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POEMS 

- Ik / ; 

ON 

SEVERAL OCCASIONS, 



BY 

THE LATE REV. THOMAS BROWNE, 

OF KINGSTON-UPON-HULL* 



" Me lusit amabalis insane." Hor. 



pjjilaaelpijte i 

PRINTED EOR JOHN CONRAD fc? CO, NO. 30 CbeStlUt 

Street — m. fc? j. conrad fe? co. no. 140 

Market Street^ Baltimore, &? rapine, 

conrad £s? co. Washington City. 

1801.' 






Gift. 

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' THE 

EDITOR'S PREFACE. 



There is, perhaps, no observation more common, as there 
is no sentiment more natural, than that almost every one is de- 
sirous of knowing something of a person whose wdrks have, 
in any considerable degree, excited his interest, or contribut- 
ed to his amusement. This is particularly the case with the 
admirers of poetry, and the different imitative arts. The minds 
of such persons are habitually occupied in embodying the forms 
which their favorite studies have suggested to their fancy, and 
in combining their ideas into substance and personality. Of 
every person who occupies much of their attention, they are 
always eager to acquire some decisive and settled notions, on 
which their imagination may rest. , 

For the sake of persons of this description, in whose minds 
the Author of the following Poems, by his character, or his 
works, may have acquired an interest/ I have thought it ad- 
viseable to prefix to this volume some particulars respecting 
himself, and those few of his productions which have surviv- 
ed him. Such information will be acceptable to those, whose 
feelings may have contributed to raise their curiosity on his 
account; and it is necessary to the public at large, to whose 
attention this volume might otherwise appear to have very in- 
sufficient claims. The best apology, I am sensible, that can 
be made for some of the pieces in the following collection, is 
to relate the .circumstances under which they were written, 
and under which they are published. . 



N EDITORS PREFACE. 



Mr. Browne was the son of the Rev. Thomas Browne, of 
Lestingham, near Kirby moor side in Yorkshire, a man of 
sound understanding, and exemplary piety, and who was con- 
sequently held in great estimation by the respectable part of 
his parishioners. The Author of this Collection was born in 
the year 1771, and at the helpless age of two years, was deprived 
of his father. This misfortune, so severe under any circum- 
stances, is still more essentially so to a child whose future 
progress in life is to depend on the effectual cultivation of 
his understanding and talents. His mother, however, did 
every thing in her power to forward the task of his educa- 
tion ; and after being at several schools in the neighborhood 
of his native village, he was placed under the tuition of the 
late Rev. Joseph Milner, of Hull, whose character must con- 
ier a degree of respectability on every youth who has shared 
his cares and instructions. After finishing his classical studies, 
and accomplishing himself in such useful and practical branches 
of knowledge as are requisite in an instructor of youth in the 
country, he undertook the care of a school at Yeddingham, 
near Pickering, in Yorkshire, where he resided nearly four 
years, universally esteemed and beloved. Thence he remov- 
ed to Bridlington, in the same county, where the sphere of 
Ws exertion was enlarged, and where he continued in the 
same respectable and useful avocation, with the same success. 
In 1797, he removed from Bridlington to Hull, and became 
the Editor of a weekly newspaper, called the Hull Adverti- 
ser, which several private gentlemen had begun to publish a 
few years before, and in which, while he resided at Bridling- 
ton, several of his poetical pieces, and prose essays, on differ- 
ent subjects, had appeared. This publication he conducted 
with great credit to himself, and much satisfaction to the pro- 
prietors and the public. He now obtained holy orders, and 
undertook the tuition of two young gentlemen from Bridling- 
ton Quay, who were sent to reside with him at Hull. Thus, 
uniting in himself the two most honorable of all professions, 
he bid fair to arrive at eminence in them both, when his pre- 
mature death in the year 1798, frustrated the hopes of his 
friends, and deprived the world of his talents and virtues, be* 



€DITOrvi PREFACE. 



fore they had time to emerge from the obscurity In which for- 
tune had placed them. 

About three months before his death, while yet his fortunes 
and establishments were in a state far from permanent or pros- 
perous, Mr. Browne married. Love was an affection beyond 
all others congenial to his nature, and, under its influence, 
every inferior principle of action lost its weight. His mind 
was a soil which nourished, with peculiar fertility, all the 
warm and affectionate virtues; and in such a soil the colder 
ones of prudence and economy will seldom vegetate. A mind 
of this description is too much occupied with the present to 
calculate on the future. 

Mr. Browne possessed, from nature, a fertile imagination, 
and a heart of strong feelings. and quick sensibility. His 
fondness for reading was excessive, and his observation of na- 
ture was attentive and acute. With such dispositions, it is no 
wonder that he became early attached to those pursuits which 
are calculated, beyond all others, to occupy the fancy, and in- 
terest the affections. Accordingly, in very early youth, he 
discovered an ungovernable eagerness for every tiling which 
respected, painting, poetry,- and whatever nature or art con- 
tains of the sublime, or beautiful, or pathetic. But his devo- 
tion to these pursuits was not discovered, as sometimes hap- 
pens, by any precocious or extraordinary efforts. His pro- 
ductions, like his mind, had more in them of the pleasing than 
the vigorous. lie did not make rapid incursions into the 
realms of art, and inforce dominion by tire irresistible tyranny 
of genius; but he sued for admission with the tenderness and 
constancy of a lover. Not only is tins temper of mind disco- 
verable in his juvenile pieces, but also in his later pro ; 
tions, and indeed in the whole tenor of his life. 

If it has ever occurred to any one, that he has sometimes 
discovered a spirit not. strictly compatible with this character 
of mind, it can only have been to those who have not reflect- 
ed on the ordinary movements of the human mmd in such si- 
tuations. A young, man, who has been brought up in the 
(Country, and has conversed much with books and little with 
men, cannot avoid forming mistaken estimates. of his capacity 

a 2 



vi editor's preface. 



and attainments. *He has seldom the opportunity of measur- 
ing his powers with such as are qualified to teach him his 
own inferiority, and is accustomed to the applause and con- 
cessions of the illiterate around him. Hence the ardent hopes 
and the sanguine temperament of youth, must necessarily de- 
ceive him, as to every thing within and every thing without, 
and exhibit to him both the world and himself infalse colours. 

Young men, who are brought up in public schools, or who 
are early ushered into life (except some few whose natural 
conceit is of a character too stupid to be removed by instruc- 
tion, or too strong to be subdued by mortification) are seldom 
liable to this misfortune. Their natural feelings become sub- 
jected to the usages of society, and being hourly made sensi- 
ble of their deficiencies by inevitable comparison, the true va- 
lue of their character cannot be concealed from themselves. 
This, perhaps, is one of the strongest considerations in favor 
of a public education. 

With respect to his intellectual character, it is certain that 
his progress in letters, and in the sciences, was by no means 
inconsiderable. His mind was naturally inquisitive, and his 
curiosity was constantly excursive, so that his acquirements 
were always on the increase. I have seen some short Latin 
poems of his, which were at first intended to have had a 
place in this collection, and which, though they did not ap- 
pear sufficiently finished for publication, exhibit a variety of 
expression, and an acquaintance with classic phraseology, be- 
yond what could have been expected from his limited means 
of study. Like the rest of his compositions, they are all ei- 
ther of the tender or elegiac cast. His mathematical know- 
ledge was of a very respectable degree, and his general ac- 
quaintance with books, appears to have been very extensive. 
Since the period when theological studies became the princi- 
pal object of his attention, as they were of his duty, he 
seems to have applied himself to that department of learning 
with uncommon assiduity. 

Such is the short and humble history of one whose modest 
and amiable virtues deserve to be regretted (and, perhaps, to 
be recorded) more than some of his contemporaries of much 



EDITOR S PREFACE. VU 



greater celebrity, and who, in his lifetime, would have shrunk 
from being thus brought before the dread tribunal of the pub- 
lic ; as his own gentle nature shrunk from the rude conflicts 
and hard collisions of a world which he was found unable to 
combat ! 

I shall finish this memoir with a few remarks on the cha- 
racter of his poetry, and on the contents of the present 
volume. 

It is not to be pretended that Mr. Browne possessed pow- 
ers adequate to the higher orders of poetry. He himself 
never entertained any such opinion. The faculties of his 
mind, like those of his heart, were temperate and placid. 
Not that he is to be considered as sunk to the level of that 
insipid mediocrity which poetry renounces, but he undoubt- 
edly did not possess much of that " Mens Divinior" which 
astonishes the mind and fires the imagination. The object 
of his ambition was to raise in his readers the same sensations 
of charity and affection which constituted his own happiness, 
and what he attempted he performed. 

Since the revival of letters in Europe, English Poetry has 
assumed, at successive periods, four distinct characters, ana- 
logous, in some degree, to the progress of refinement in ci- 
vilized society. These may be stiled (for the sake of distinc- 
tion and for want of more appropriate expressions) the Ro- 
mantic, the Metaphysical, the Rational, and the Sentimen- 
tal. The first of these schools is remotely derived from the 
Troubadours, whose works were so much celebrated in the 
12th. and 13th. centuries, under the name of the Provencal 
Poetry. The reign of chivalry which had such an effect on 
the letters of the age, had already refined the rudeness of 
these uncouth bards, when the amourous verses of Petrarch 
diffused a new taste over Europe, and the triumphs of love 
where celebrated even more than the atchievments of arms. 
In the class of poets which then flourished, may be placed 
the authors of our old ballads and legends, and, probably, 
Chaucer, Spencer, and many other names of inferior eminence. 
Shortly after, when the dialectics of the schools began to su- 
persede the visions of romance, the poetry of the bards be- 



Vill EDITOR S PREFACE. 



came tinctured with the subtleties of the Logicians, and the 
Metaphysical Tribe arose. The beauties which this descrip- 
tion of poets principally solicited were what they termed 
"thoughts " that is such subtleties either of the imagination or 
reason, as were calculated to surprise by their novelty, or as- 
tonish by their 'depth. Every one is acquainted with the lead- 
ers in this species of poetry ; Cowley, Donne, Jonson, and, 
in some degree, even Milton and Shakespeare, may be num- 
bered among its votaries. But, as society refines; the empire 
of common sense is sure to gain the ascendancy. Next, 
therefore, came -the rational poets. Among the founders of 
this school, Dry den certainly claims the pre-eminence, and 
Pope among the disciples. These writers, tho' admitting and 
courting ail the graces which fancy and nature lend to poet- 
ry, are, however, distinguished by the prevalence of that fa- 
culty in their writings which we call good sense, or right rea- 
son. Dr. Johnson is perhaps the last who can be numbered 
decidedly among this class. Last of all came the sentimental 
poets of the present age. When a nation has reached the sum- 
mit of Luxury, its* masculine vigor becomes impaired, and 
the nerve of attention is relaxed. But the minds of men, in 
this state, tho' abhorrent from every species of exertion, are, 
more than ever, eager for amusement. Something must, 
therefore, be done to sooth the fancy and the feelings,- which 
will not keep the faculties too much on the stretch. This 
state of public sensation is the natural precursor of that revo- 
Jution in the art, which then begins to be not less necessary 
to the poet than to his readers; for the striking images of na- 
ture, whence poetry chiefly derives its materials, are now al- 
most exhausted. What is great, being also prominent, can- 
not have escaped former observation. To excel in poetry, 
of that kind which is its proper character, is therefore become 
an arduous task, attainable only by such a genius as can very 
seldom be expected to appear. But another career is still 
open. As the pursuits and manners of life are perpetually 
changing, the modifications of passion and sentiment which 
depend on them admit of endless variety, and to combine and 
describe these in elegant and musical versification., is the taik 



EDITOR 6 PREFACE. Vt 



assigned to the poet of the present day. Softness and sweet- 
ness are now, therefore, almost all that are required of him ; 
but, as the public ear is of course very refined, and the public 
feeling very delicate, these requisites are absolutely indispen- 
sable. Shenstone and Goldsmith are among the earliest mas- 
ters of this school ; and, as the first writers in every era of po- 
etry are commonly the greatest, they have not been excelled 
by any of their successors. 

This short view of the progress of poetry, is not, I hope, 
entirely impertinent in this place, as it is intended to remind 
the reader that so much is not to be expected from the poets 
of the present day, as from some of the venerable dead, whose 
works he may have been accustomed to consider as the stand- 
ard of perfection. It is meant to remind him that excellence, 
even in the same art, is to be attained in various ways, and 
that in every work " the writers end is to be regarded/' 

It is in this latter school that, 1 am of opinion, Mr. Browne 
was qualified to have made, in due time, a very conspicuous 
figure. His pieces are almost all of the description which is 
termed sentimental, and breathe the prevailing temperament 
of his mind. His feelings were perpetually open to the most 
lively impressions, and every species of suffering to which hu- 
man or inferior nature is subject, found a sympathetic chord 
in His bosom. This is observable even in his most trifling pro- 
ductions. The passion of love, the great source of poetic 
effusion in every age, seems to have been familiar to him in 
all its most delicate movements, and he has described its va- 
rious impulses in a spirit of nature and truth that could only 
result from a mind capable of conceiving and feeling its ef- 
fects. His smooth and flowing diction is entirely appropriate 
to subjects of tenderness and affection. 

When, after his death, it had been determined to publish a 
collection of his poems (as well for the sake of preserving 
some beautiful fugitive pieces from oblivion, as of procuring 
some little benefit to the widow and orphan who survived 
him) the different pieces that were known to be his compo- 
sitions were collected together by his friends. It was, how- 
ever, found impossible to produce a sufficient number to fill 



EDITOR S PREFACE, 



a Volume of the requisite size, without inserting several of 
his juvenile productions, which, perhaps, may be thought to 
reflect disgrace on those of his riper years, and which certain- 
ly have great need of the candor and indulgence of the pub- 
lic. Among the pieces of this description, those entitled, The 
Universal Wish* page 3 1 ; Content, page 43 ; Delia, a pas- 
toral ballad, page 50; Complaint of an African Woman, 
page 89; and a Song, page 142, I believe were written in 
the very early periods of his youth, when his stock of ideas, 
and command of language, were, of course, very confined, 
These, with some others, written at periods somewhat sub- 
sequent to the above, cannot certainly pretend to any higher 
aim, than that of affording some amusement to those who 
take pleasure in remarking the initiatory efforts of the rising 
faculties, in their pursuit after excellence, and the gradual 
expansion of the poetical talent. Among his last productions, 
are those entitled, The Beggar, page 1 ; To Anna, page 7 ; 
To Sleep, page 8 ; The Slighted Maid, page 83 ; To the- 
Polar Star, page 125 ; and some of the Sonnets, from which 
it will be seen that his imagination became gradually more 
excursive, his numbers more harmonious, and his diction 
more elegant and expressive. 

When he attempts the higher kinds of poetry, as in his 
Odes, he must be admitted to fail in the impetus ardens which 
that species of composition is thought to require ; but some 
of them, particularly the Ode to November, and that to 
Rage, contain some beautiful description and glowing lan- 
guage. The latter is by no means deficient even in the es- 
sential qualities of the ode, but it closes with a conceit which 
revives the memory of Cowley or of Clieveland. 

The Specimens of the Yorkshire Dialect have been great- 
ly admired by every one whose habits of life qualify him to 
appreciate their merits. In my opinion they contain the 
most faithful representations of modern rustic manners, and 
ihe best imitation of rustic language that have yet appeared, 
Perhaps some, disgusted with the vulgarity of the language 
and sentiments, may think the imitation too close, and that 
the coarseness of clownish manners ought to be somewhat 






'MQK S FREFACE, 



'softened in poetry. They will, however, afford great pleasure 
to every one conversant in the habits and dialect of the York- 
shire villagers, and on that account they are inserted. 

The short Pieces written on Mr. Browne's death, are in- 
serted at the wish of some of the subscribers, who are desi- 
rous of paying all possible respect to the memory of the de- 
ceased. The beautiful Ode, signed "Nemorina," is, of itself, 
sufficient to confer value on any publication in which it ap- 
pears. Some of the pieces inscribed to his memory are ad- 
dressed to " Alexis/' the name which he affixed to his pie- 
ces in the periodical publications. 

The Copy of Verses which concludes the volume, tho' 
not an original composition, I am sure every one v/ill excuse 
me for inserting. The reader will see it is compiled from 
different authors, and accomodated to the occasion on which 
it was written. As it now stands, perhaps, it is as elegant 
and affecting a composition as ever was produced in any 
language. It was arranged bv that friend of Mr. Browne, 
thro* whose exertions I have been enabled to publish this 
volume; and who was anxious to manifest by every means 
in his power his affection and veneration for the memory of 
the deceased. 

J. M- 

Ziverpool, 20th April, 1 800. 



CONTENTS. 



The Beggar I 

To the Aura Popularis 4 

To Anna ? 

To Sleep 8 

To my Pen 10 

To a frighted Hare 13 

Address to Genius . tv 

To a Violet 22 

To a withered Rose 24 

The Will-a-wisp ; an Eclogue 26 

The Universal Wish ^ . • 31 

Verses on the Flight of a Linnet, which had been sing- 
ing on the Top of a Beech, at the Foot of which the 

Author was reclined 34 

Verses on the setting at liberty a Butterfly 36 

To Cleanthe . 38 

Force of Virtue 41 

Content ; a Vision 43 

To Eliza 47 

Delia; a pastoral Ballad, in four parts 50 

Hymn to Contentment 63 

Lines addressed to a young Lady, who wrote many 
beautiful Poetical Pieces, which appeared in the Hull 

Advertiser 66 

On the Author's writing a letter to his Mother 67 

On the Birth-day of Miss * * * * *, of Hull 70 

The Lovers to their favorite Tree. . • 73 

Complaint of a Circassian Slave, confined in the Otto- 
man Seraglio 77 

The Slighted Maid \ 83 

Elegy on the young, beautiful, and accomplished Lady 

Grantley 85 

Effusions of Melancholy 87 

Cdmplaint of an African Woman for the Loss of her 

Husband * . . . . 89 

Elegiac Verses written on the Grave of* an unfortunate 

fair one 92 

Ode to the peremptory, ill-natured, and unwelcome 

monosyllable — No 96 

B 



X1V CONTENTS. 



Ode to Rage 100 

Ode to Friendship 103 

Ode to the Rising Sun 105 

Ode to Disappointment 108 

Ode to the Spring HI 

Ode to November 113 

Ode to Envy 117 

>Ode to Folly ...'.'. 122 

Sonnet to Sloth 123 

Sonnet to a sleeping Child , 124 

Sonnet to the Polar Star 125 

Sonnet to Friendship 126 

Anxiety 127 

Hope. 128 

Natale Solum 129 

The Tear . r 130 

Love 131 

Peace 132 

Shipwreck 133 

To Beauty 134 

To Eliza 135 

Perfidy 137 

To Impatience 138 

The Sky-Lark 139 

Song . . 142 

The Sailor's Bride ..144 

Song 145 

Canzonet 147 

Ditto 148 

Song in the Yorkshire dialect 149 

Ditto 152 

Ditto 153 

Awd Daisy; an Eclogue 155 

The Invasion ; an Eclogue 1 60 

Sonnet on the death of Alexis . , 165 

On the death of Alexis 166 

Sonnet, inscribed to the memory of the late Rev. Tho- 
mas Browne 168 

Ode on the death of Alexis 169 

On the death of the Rev, Thomas Browne 173 



POEMS. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



THE BEGGAR, 



Thro' the fields, as I stray'd, when the skies were serene, 
When the corn's pendent ears wildly wav'd in the breeze ; 

When bustling at work the gay reapers were seen, 
And Pomona's rich bounties hung ripe on the trees ; 

A poor Beggar I saw, as he sat on the ground, 

And I heard him oft sigh, and thus plaintively speak, 

Whilst his eye sad surveyed the gay prospect around, 
And pensive dejection sat pale on his cheek : 

c 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



" Amidst the gay scenes now unfolded to sight, 
It is almost a crime to be heard to complain; 

But, alas ! can the bosom partake of delight, 

That struggles with want, and is tortur'd with pain? 

From the door, where I crav'd but a morsel of bread, 
When spurn'd with rude taunts, I'm compell'd to depart : 

When houseless I rove, e'en unblest with a shed^ 
How can pleasure admittance obtain to my heart J 

From Nature's great Parent the bounties that flow, 
One would think, should awaken the kindness of man, 

Like him out of plenty a part to bestow, 

And give to the wretched the pittance he can. 

There was once, when the blessings of fortune were mine, 
When hope bid me count certain bliss as my lot ; 

When the soul of the wanderer could not repine, 
Who entreated an alms at the door of my cot. 

But, alas ! stern misfortune's rude hand has now torn 
From my heart ev'ry joy made it pleasure to live; 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



And hopeless, abandoned, I wander forlorn, 
To request the relief I exulted to give/' 

Ah me! and I heard him thus pensively wail, 
And I past, as it seemM, quite regardlessly by, 

As the Beggar repeated his sorrowful tale, 

Yet a tear — a soft tear gently stole from my eye. 

From thy look, for the language of looks I believe, 
Thou didst think I was hard, and unfeeling, I know; 

But my heart — yes, my heart deeply sigh'd to relieve— 
What I had not, poor Beggar, I could not bestow. 



occasional pi: 



TO THE AURA POPULAR1S. 



Virtus ^™™™*™** 

Nee swnit tint poult secures 
Arbiirio popular is aurm* 

HOB, CD, 2, lib, 3, 

Thou flattVing breeze, that canst impart 
Some pleasure to the noblest heart $ 
(For tho 5 the truly wise ne'er prize thee, 
But few have firmness to despise thee.) 
To thee, by whim or thought imprest, 
My present strain is now addrest; 
But mark — nor let my coldness hurt thee $ 
I neither mean to slight nor court thee* 

Eolus, in his storehouse large, 
'Mong all the winds he has in charge, 
On strictest search, will never find 
So welcome, and so lov'd a wind. 
In vain the Zephyr's gentlest breeze 
May whisper thro' the quivering trees ; 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



The Blackbird's song, the Linnet's note, 
Along the trembling air may float, 
And every tuneful throat may join, 
To make a concert quite divine ; 
In vain may music's tuneful art, 
Strive, thro' the ear, to touch the heart, 
IF on the raptur'd nerve imprest, 
Thy sound shall cheer the longing breast, 
When fond admiring crowds shall raise 
The murmuring din of distant praise. 
No other sound, however dear, 
Can then engage the ravish'd ear; 
And tho' thy voice is somewhat hoarse, 
The lack of sweetness adds to force. 
The starving Poet, oft confin'd, 
Camelion-like, to feed on wind, 
Who skill'd, of course, in such like foodj 
Knows what is bad, and what is good, 
Will tell of all the puffs of air, 
On which he is" condemn'd to fare, 
Thy breath the choicest dainties brings, 
And strengthening lifts his fancy's wings, 
C2 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



When so reduc'd, by meagre diet, 
A Birth-day ctde she scarce can try at- 
So litde by the muse he gets, 
5 Tis almost all the food he eats, 
If such ill luck do not betide him, 
That e'en this pittance is deny'd him. 

But beneficial still art thou, 
To some on whom thou deignst to blow ; 
To draw the crowd to Thelwall's rostrum, 
To give a^ name to GodbokPs nostrum, 
To get large bets on Ste'enson's heels, 
To keep L .- J s coach upon its wheels, 
Or cause a rage (this verse no scoff is). 
For lott'ry shares at Hazard's office. 
Thou giv'st to Katerfelto's stone, 
A pow'r superipr to its owr^j 
And to the poctor's satisfaction, 
Doublest the magnet's strong attraction, 
Which draws (to its kind master useful) 
Of gaping folks a crowded housefuL 



OCCASIONAL PIECES* 



TO ANNA. 



Should care on my brow e'er display its stern feature,. 

Or attention the lustre exhaust in my eye, 
Fatigue oft will cast a dull languor o'er nature^ 

And reflection will force from the bosom a sigh. 
But, love, to thy breast let distrust never enter, 

Thy swain thou canst ne'er of indifPrence reprove ; 
In thee my fond cares, my affections all centre, 

Nor stray, for a moment, from Anna and love*. 

Ah! list not to fancy's deceitful suspicion^ 

For fancy to error, not truth, is the guide ; 
Let reason dispel front your mind the dark vision*. 

And, my fair, to be happy, learn first to confide : 
Let peace be once more in your bosom reseated, 

Nor let fear from its post the sweet cherub remove ^ 
Ah ! think on the promise so often repeated, 

That I. ne'er should be faithless to— Anna and love* 



OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



Wheresoever its course the swift vessel is steering, 

Across the wide ocean, by compass so true 
To the pole, as the needle is constantly veering; 

'Tis thus,, my fond thoughts still returning to you. 
Sturdy care, for a while, will obtrude on attention, 

Yet my heart fronvits favorite object not move ; 
Exulting I turn from a moment's suspension, 

To think with new rapture on— r- Anna and love. 



TO SLEEP. 



In vain, gentle friend to the weary, I sought 
On my soft downy pillow thy solace to find, 

To arrest the wild errors of wandering thought, 

And to soothe the keen anguish that prey'd on my mind. 

In vain do I court thee thy poppies to shed, 
Thy poppies with virtue Lethean endued ; 

Ah! wildly coquettish, thou fly'st from my bed, 
And leav'st me still tost by a tempest so rude. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



If, at length, thou shouldst grant to my sorrow-stainM eyes, 
A transient suspension of pain to enjoy; 

Yet thy £ancy*£orm'd train of dark spectres arise, 
Interrupting ifty fest> if they cannot destroy. 

Like the minions of fortune, thou always art found 
Where affliction an entrance has never obtain'd ; 

Where plenteously blessings already abound, 
Where grief has not tortur'd, nor anguish has pain'd. 

Why alone to the woe-begone mourner a foe, 
For the balm of repose shall he fruitlessly pray ? 

Is there something uncouth in the aspect of woe ? 

Is there something that scares thee, soft phantom, away ? 

The vacant, the careless, the gay, and the free, 
Uncourted, thy peace-giving blessings obtain, 

While those may solicit in vain, who, like me, 
Are wounded by sorrow, or tortur'd with pain. 



10 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



TO MY PEN. 



Little pliant, passive tool, 

Employed alike by wit and fool* 

By high and low of all conditions, 

By Poets, Beaux, and Politicians, 

By Doctors, Parsons, ledgerM cits, 

By Lawyers, Clerks, and would-be Wits : 

These all thy uses know full well, 

These all can of thy service tell, 

Yet none of them, in tuneful lays, 

E'er thought thee worth one line of praise. 

When in their service worn quite put, 
Too oft the thoughtless, thankless rout 
No signs of gratitude display, 
But cast thee carelessly away, 
Among the sweepings of the floor 
To lie, and ne*er be thought of more ; 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 11 



Or toss thee (shameful !) on the fire*, 

On smoking sea-coal to expire. 

So, when advanced their private ends, 

Some men forget their kindest friends ; 

So Ministers, on heights sublime, 

Forget the steps by which they climb, 

And elevated next the throne, 

Oft kick their friendly ladder down, 

Slave to the Muse's scribbling train, 

Must thou for them still drudge in vain? 

Conductor of the Poet's fire, 

Must thou unnotic'd then expire, 

And ne'er on thee the grateful Bard 

Bestow one verse, thy blest reward,? 

Forbid it all ye tuneful throng! 

Forbid it all ye powers of song! 

Bards and their pens, like friend and brother, 

Should kindly recommend each other. 

Without a recollective sigh, 
Thou shalt not in oblivion lie ,• 



12 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



This verse will shew how much I prize thee- 
And could I — Pd immortalize thee. 

Thou ne'er shalt stain the guiltless page, 

With the mad strains of party rage ; 

No virtuous character defame, 

Or tinge the modest cheek with shame ; 

Or ever publish venal lays, 

To any worthless patron's praise ; 

Or e'er, the sense of shame forgot, 

Careless let fall a vicious blot. 

Be this my sole design and end, 

To prove thee ever virtue's friend, 

And still thro' life determined shew 

To vice an unrelenting foe : 

And then if honest fame refuse 

A wreath to grace my humble muse, 

I blame not her— but must infer it— 

Mv verse has had no real merit. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 13 



TO A FRIGHTED HARE, 



Little timid creature stay ! 
Why so hastily away ? 
Tremble not at sight of me, 
I shall never injure thee. 
Tho' too many of my race, 
Joying in the cruel chase, 
Thee with eager shouts pursue, 
Flying o'er the morning dew ; 
Judge not of us all by those, 
Trembler — all are not thy foes. 
Some there are of hearts humane, 
Where the gentler passions reign, 
Thinking stepdame nature hard, 
Pitying, view with kind regard, 
Thy untoward hapless fate, 
And thy weak defenceless state, 
Safe from terrors and alarms, 
Thou might'st shelter in their arms. 

D 



14 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Wandering o'er the vernal meads, 
Whither contemplation leads, 
Or to mark the opening spring, 
Or to hear the warblers sing, 
Or to waste the lonely hours, 
Culling wildly scattered flowers j 
Or by Luna's placid light, 
When I woo the silent night, 
PleasM, I oft unseen survey 
All your sportive am'rous play, 
Revelling in hasty joys, 
While unscar'd by hated noise ; 
Should my errant, feet too rude, 
On your frolic sport intrude ; 
Should that hated form appear, 
Swift you fly in wildest fear, 
Trembling seek a safe retreat, 
Borne away on sinews fleet. 

Little timid creature say, 
Why so swift you flee away J 



OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



Too much cause thou hast indeed, 
Fearful wand'rer for thy dread ; 
Not a beast on earth that goes 
Numbers such a host of foes* 
Haply soaring on the sky, 
As the eagle passes by, 
Darting from his airy steep, 
On thy placid noonday sleeps 
Bears thee to the cliffy brow 
Nodding o'er the main below, 
Where impatient for their food, 
Famish'd scream his callow brood. 
Or on earth, or in the air, 
Foes surround thee ev'ry where, 
Watching, 0*> by night or day, 
Thee to make their destin'd prey; 
Ne'er exempt from fatal harms, 
All thy life is but alarms. 
Chiefly man's tyrannic sway, 
He who boasts of reason's ray, 
He whose heart alone can feel 
Pity's softly sighing thrill, 



16 OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



By uncounted numbers slain, 
Basely desolates the plain. 
Panting o'er the weary fields, 
What a savage joy it yields, 
Ev'ry little art to foil, 
Circumvent each subtile wile, 
And with stubborn patience trace, 
All the mazes of thy race, 
Till exhausted, breathless worn, 
Thou by bloody hounds art torn. 

Fly then, timid creature, fly ! 
All thy fears I justify; 
Thou who hast the savage try'd, 
How canst thou in man confide ? 



OCCASIONAL PIECES* 17 



• MltriKMMI* 



ADDRESS TO GENIUS. 



All hail I thou potent energy of mind, 
Fancy and judgment in one point combin'd, 
To thee the muse her duteous tribute brings, 
Bend from thy throne and listen while she sings ; 
Thy works enlivening form her chief delight, 
Pains lose their anguish, care its leaden weight, 
When thou in all thy native beauties drest, 
Pour'st lenient balm, and sooth'st the troubled breast. 
By some strange magic. can thy language charm, 
And soft infuse its influence kind and warm, 
Till by degrees the melting heart is won, 
And as soft wax before the noonday sun, 
Pliant receives whatever form imprest,— 
Thy cogent lines so moulds th' enraptur'd breasfc 
Without thy aid the tuneless verse would flow, 
In jarring numbers^ spiritless and slow ; 
No polish'd lines would smoothly glide along^ 
No strength or elegance adorn the song j 

D 2 



18 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Without thee all tuition is but vain, 
Witness poor Marcus' unproductive brain. 
In vain are all the lectures of the schools, 
To form the mind by dull didactic rules, 

If in that mind thou stern deny'st to smile, 

Or grant thy power to fertilize the soil. 

As wide the aerial eagle takes his flight, 

In purest aether far from human sight, 

On nervous pinions pois'd, sublimely rides, 

And o'er the clear cerulean concave glides ; 

Far down beneath observant of his prey. 

The lazy kite pursues his circling way ; 

The lark, tho' skill'd to climb the morning skies, 

His highest flight can scarce to midway rise ; 

Nor can the falcon's swifter pinions bear 

His rapid flight to such a pitch in air. 

Such is the mind which thou hast given to soar, 

Thro' paths of science unpursu'd before ; 

With strengthen'd wing he cleaves dark error's cloud, 

And far beneath him leaves the wond'ring crowd : — 

There in clear skies (no intervening shade) 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 19 



Truth's brightest radiance spotless shines display'd,- 

In search of science, takes his rapid flight, 

Far as the solar rays transmit their light,— 

Dives to the centre, to the stars aspires, 

Thro' cities wanders, or to groves retires* 

If this low system we inhabit here, 

Be for his ample mind too strait a sphere, 

One single effort can transport him far 

Beyond the light of the remotest star ; 

There plac'd on high, serene he views the whole 

Of all creation's boundless system rolL 

Where'er thy fair celestial radiance shines, 
Each object glows, and ev'ry scene refines ; 
A fresher green the verdant vales display, 
With higher tints the flow'rets greet the day, 
And thicker leaves the shady groves adorn, 
More gaily smile the waving crops of corn; 
With sweeter murmurs glides the stream along, 
And more melodious floats the warbler's song. 
To rugged rocks, and barren deserts, thou 
Canst graces lend, and thousand charms bestow: 



20r OCCASIONAL PIECES* 



With pleasure o'er the boundless wilds v/e hie,-. 
Peep o'er the precipice with trembling joy ; 
Forbidding horrors banish'd by degrees, 
E'en drear deformity itself can please. 

Enchanting pow'r ! ah leave dark- vice's shade 1 
From all her votaries, ah withdraw thine aid ! 
Thy magic pencil never more impart 
To hide their frauds, or aid her guileful art ; 
To bid her charms in borrow'd graces shin^,- 
By touch etherial heighten'd to divine, 
To virtue all thy kind assistance lend, 
Ah ! be to virtue, as the muse, a friend ; 
Then shall the hag no more triumphant reign, 
But, lash'd by scorpions, fly the sacred plain, 
Where thou and virtue hand in hand unite, 
And wide diffuse your radiant heavenly light. 
By thee unsanction'd, then shall crimes no more 
Dare to appear, but murm'ring leave the shore ; 
No more shall fraud in specious habit rove ? 
Or vile seduction wear the mask of love ; 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 21 



No more, beneath the name of harmless joy ? 
Intemperance shall the vital pow'rs destroy ; 
Or calumny, like purest friendship show, 
And watch its time to give the secret blow. 
Do thou divest them of their dark disguise, 
Which hides their foulness from all common eyes: 
Then swept away, before thy dreaded ire, 
Back to their'native shades the fiends retire. 
Point thou the way r and show the bright abode, 
The mole-ey'd atheist shall discern a God ; 
Sudden the mists of prejudice shall flee 
Far from around him, rarify'd by thee ; 
No more proud blasphemy shall foul his tongue, 
But wond'ring how his reason, dark so long, 
Such obvious truths could pass unheeded by, 
He owns the Deity with heartfelt joy, — 
Exulting, flies to join the grateful train, 
And praise triumphant fills the sacred fane. 



22 OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



TO A VIOLET. 



Beneath a spreading hawthorn's shade. 
Deep hid within the sylvan glade ; 
In some sequestered hedge-row's side, 
Thy modest head thou lov'st to hide r 
No gaudy tints thy leaves display, 
No painted tulip's rich array, 
And deck'd in no fantastic guise, 
Thou striv'st to. draw admiring eye§: 
But drest in purple sober hue, 
Retiring from the forward view, 
Within thy mantling leaves of green, 
Thou seem'st to wish to live unseen. 
But ah ! the scents that Zephyrs bear, 
Diffusive thro' the vernal air ; 
To all the sweet recess disclose, 
From whence the balmy fragrance flows : 
And tho' sharp pointed thorns around, 
All entrance bar, and threat to wound, — • 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 23 



The swain enamour' d of thy sweets, 
The hostile points undaunted meets : 
The well defended entrance tries, 
Nor rests till thou art made his prize ; 
While crimson drops that trickle down, 
Display the toil he's undergone* 
Ah ! would the Fair these truths discern, 
From thee this useful lesson learn, 
The trifling arts of dress despise, 
And woman's truest knowledge prize ; 
Spurn tyrant fashion's fripp'ry bands, 
Reject false taste's supreme commands,, 
Adorn with care the pliant mind, 
With love of truth and sense refin'd: 
Then would they shine divinely fair, 
And worthy of our utmost care ; 
Then would our hearts a passion own, 
Not sprung from outward charms alone,— 
A double chain would bind us fast, 
And make the cordial union last, 



24 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



TO A WITHERED ROSE. 



Ah, once fair flow'r, thy roseat bloom is fled ! 

Withered thy leaves, and languid droops thy head ! 

Late o'er the gay parterre thy beauties shone 

'Midst a fair group, unequal'd and alone : 

Surrounding rivals all with envy nVd ; 

By all the tribes of buzzing beaux adinir'd; 

By fanning Zephyrs gentle airs cares t, 

That idly loitering on thy fragrant breast, 

Steal balmy odours grateful to the sense, 

And wide around the ambrosial sweets dispense. 

Pluck'd from the stem where sister roses grew, 

And whence thy charms their kind nutrition drew, 

No more their leaves a vivid freshness boast, 

But all the deeply blushing hue is lost. 

Their sweet perfume those shrivel' d leaves retain, 

Their odours undiminished still remain ; 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



And full as grateful, as when on the bough. 
Thou didst within thy native garden blow. 

Reflecting on thy fate, still fragrant rose, 
The pensive muse this moral emblem draws ; — 
When bending age, slow creeping, comes apace, 
And steals the charms from fair Eliza's face ; 
Then when her speaking eye no more shall move 
Each swain to rapture, and each heart to love,' — 
Virtue remains her brightest — greatest charm, 
'Tis this we love, and love without alarm ; 
This shines the noblest beauty of the fair, — 
No charm is wanting, if but virtue's there. 



26 OCCASIONAL PIECIS 



THE WILL-A-WISP 

AN ECLOGUE. 



What time the sun had from the skies withdrawn, 
When, with soft light the moon resplendent shone, 
Thro' the tall forests close embowering height, 
Her gilded crescent shed uncertain light, 
While pensive William held his dubious way, 
Alone conducted by the flitting ray. 
Swift thro' the trees the hastening shepherd hi\l, 
To meet his love, his long intended bride ; 
Full forty furlongs, o'er the heathy moor, 
The swain must travel, ere he reach her door* 
That length of journey still did William find. 
When he had left the gloomy wood behind. 

Now vap'ry clouds obscur'dthe silver moon, 
Which thro' the floating veil but faintly shone 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 27 



And now quick traveling o'er the dreary waste, 

The swain enamor'd half his toil had pass'd,— - 

When lo ! an envious meteor's errant light 

Deceitful shone, and cheats his eager sight : 

" Yonder's the cottage " (to himself he cries) 

" Where Mary's charms shall greet my longing eyes ; 

There shall my toil a blissful solace find, 

In talk with her, so gentle and so kind :— 

Lovely — she is so witty and so gay,— 

With her how swift the moments steal away ! 

So sweet she looks, whatever she does or says, 

I could forever hear, forever gaze. 

Care-worn no more with wakeful love I'll pine, 
She shall — the lovely Mary shall be mine ;— 
I cannot think she would my proffer slight, 
She surely would not, if I think aright. 
As once I urg'd my suit and warmly prest 
('Twas when reclining on her snowy breast) 
I told her, would she but consent to join ' - 
The hand I held, in wedlock's bands with mine, 



28 OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



No peasant low, or splendid prince so high, 
Could taste such joys, or be so blest as I ; 
She blush'd, and silent drew her hand away ; 
She said not yes — but yet she said not nay : 
Her blushing cheek, her speaking eye confest, 
I then, at last, her kind esteem possest : 
So sweet she looks, whate'er she does or says, 
I could forever hear, forever gaze. 

O when she's mine, then with the Lark I'll rise, 
Soon as the sun-beam paints the eastern skies ; 
To fetch my kine, I'll cross the dewy plain, 
Assist to milk, and drive to field again. 
When summer comes, we'd toil the livelong day, 
I'd mow the grass, and she should make the hay : 
When yellow harvest waves along the field, 
Together we'd our crooked sickles wield ; 
Pleas'd would we lay the weighty sheaves along, 
And sooth our labors with a cheerful song. 
How gaily would I ply the whirling flail 
To thrash the corn — she'd winnow in the gale i 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 29 



While loaves or cakes, prepar'd by hands so neat, 
To me would taste with relish doubly sweet : 
So sweet she looks, whatever she does or says, 
I could forever hear, forever gaze." — 

With strains like these, the swain beguil'd his care, 

Of fraud mistrustless, or not well aware ; 

And as the rude spontaneous numbers flow'd, 

The quick succession cheats the tedious road: 

Heedless he runs to gain the faithless light, 

Nor aught suspects, nor weens himself not right; 

He fondly hoping soon the cot to gain, 

Misguided wanders o'er the trackless plain. 

* 
At length, when long he'd roam'd the wide spread waste, 

And far beyond the wish'd for cottage past, 

Sudden from sight the sportive flame withdrew,— 

He stop'd, amaz'd, and wist not what to do ! 

Then straight emerging shone a radiant beam, 

And trembling quiver 5 d on a purling stream 

That cross'd his path — confounded stood the swain y 

And sunk exhausted on the heathy plain, 

E2 



30 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



No purling stream had cross'd his path before, 

Nor could he guess what ground he'd travell'd o'er; 

Yet stung with rage, impatient of deky, 

He rose, and backward trod his devious way : 

Here fortune prov'd to 'wilder'd William kind 

(Dame fortune's acts are always vague and blind) 

She led his steps thro' bogs and buhsy dells, 

Straight to the cottage where his Mary dwells, — 

She waiting sat (nor reck'd the midnight hour) 

For William's promis'd coming o'er the moor. 

The weary' d swain his sad mischance relates, 

His toilsome wand'ring, and vexatious straits ; 

She laugh'd to hear — then gave a tender smile, 

i 
Glad William saw, nor ru'dhis former toil. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 31 



THE UNIVERSAL WISH. 



What may the muse presume to call 
The Universal Wish of all ? 
The wish of all will surely be, 
If I mistake not — Liberty I 

Of life it is the sweetest zest, 
Not monarchs are without it blest ; 
The peasant eats with greater glee, 
His crust of bread in Liberty. 

Yon birds that flutter in the cage, 
And peck their prison bars in rage, 
Their only wish is to be free, — 
Such are the charms of Liberty ! 

Old Roger, weary'd with the life 

He leads with Kate, his scolding wife, 



32 OCCASIONAL PIECES* 



Sighs to himself — ah woe is me i 
Were I but once at Liberty ! 

The thief in grated room confin'd, 
Sighs after freedom in his mind ; 
And if some wealthy cit he see— - 
Cries — were I but at Liberty ! 

The wealthy ward, from window high, 
Beholds her lover passing by : 

were I but at age ! cries she,— 

1 then should be at Liberty ! 

The school-boy for some heinous fault, 
Shut up in dark coal-hole or vault, 
Impatient hears his comrade's glee, 
And pants to be at Liberty ! 

The miser's hoard with longing eyes, 
The heir presumptive views, and cries,- 

would the old Curmudgeon die, 

1 then should be at Liberty ! 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 33 



Behold on Britain's ample plain, 
Content, and wealth, and commerce reign ; 
Around the waving harvests see, 
And all the joys of Liberty ! 

But view our potent neighbor's coasts 
O'errun with fierce embattled hosts -, 
On all sides want and ruin see — 
Fruits of mistaken Liberty ! 

That Britain long may flourish fair, 
Is every Briton's wish and prayer ; 
And may we live from factions free, 
And ne'er misuse our Liberty ! 

Ye Gods ! your crowns, and wealth, and power, 
On those who wish them — plenteous shower ; 
And only grant, I pray to me — 
Health, and the goddess Liberty! 






34 OCCASIONAL PIECLS. 



VERSES 



occasioned by a Flight of a Linnet, which had been sing- 
ing on the top of a Beech, at the foot of which the 
Author was reclined. 



Say, tuneful Bird, that o'er my head, 
Sequestered in the lonely bower, 
Thy wildly-warbling note didst pour, 

Ah ! why so soon capricious fled ? 
Here I could loiter hours away, 

On springing vi'iets laid along, 

Nor grudge to waste the vernal day, 

In listening only to thy seng. 

Sweet fugitive 5 devoid of fear, 

Renew thy gladd'ning, welcome strain ; 

Return, ah ! soon return again, 
Nor fancy hidden dangers here : 

On plunder bent, unfeeling boys 
These sacred haunts ne'er dare invade, 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 35 



Nor vex with harsh discordant noise, 
The lonely, unfrequented shade. 

Ah ! why this long-protracted stay ? 

Does some gay wanton's call of love 

Allure thy errant flight to rove 
Thro'devious woodlands far away? 

Deaf to the Syren's artful voice, 
Return, ah! soon return again ! 

Bid these dull scenes again rejoice, 
And sing once more thy melting strain. 

Sweet fugitive ! thy song is o'er ! 

I hear no longer trembling float, 

The wildly-free extatic note — 
And the still grove now charms no mon 

A transient hour may thus impart, 
The raptur'd bliss we dearly prize, 

But scarcely can it reach the heart, 
Before the short-liv'd transport dies, 



— - 



36 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



VERSES 

written on setting at liberty a Butterfly, flittering 

against ?ny Window. 



Go, fluttering prisoner, seek the flow'ry fields, 
And beat with joyful wing thy native air ; 

What parent Nature's equal bounty yields, 

(Thy favVite sweets) in perfect freedom share ; 

O'er thee, I'll ne'er usurp the tyrant right, 

To check thy wand'ring, or restrain thy flight. 

So short the time that marks thy utmost date, 
I'd not abridge thy transient joys an hour — 

Go, follow circling wild, thy wand'ring mate, 
And chase the fair coquette from flow'r to flow'r ; 

Perhaps, e'en now, with boding fear distrest, 

She sits impatient on the thistle's breast. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 37 



Some time, perhaps, when wayward fancy leads> 
To wander where autumnal blossoms blow, 

I'll spy thee, hov'ring o'er the fragrant meads, 
And see thy bright wings in the sun-beams glow : 

But wilt thou, little insect, know 'twas me, 

Whose friendly hand from thraldom set thee free ? 

Ah ! no, thy thoughtless bosom ne'er retains 
One fleeting trace of all the moments past ; 

Engvoss'd alone by present joys or pains, 
Each new event obliterates the last : 

Yet, tho' the kindness meet no due regard, 

I feel, the conscious pleasure brings its own reward. 




38 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



TO CLEANTHE. 



Tell me, unfeeling maid, of sordid mould, 

Whose thoughts the charms of wealth alone approve 

Say, can your glittVing, dear lovM idol — gold, 
Compensate for the bliss of mutual love ? 

To win the rich prize to your longing arms, 
Try ev'ry scheme, that talces th' unwary heart ; 

With practised skill display your brightest charms. 
Spread ev'rv lure, and practise ev'ry art. 

And then with downcast, passion-feigning eye, 

Falsly reluctant take, the offer' cl hand; 
At Hymen's altar lisp the conscious lie, 

With mock confusion, and demeanor blaih 

In proud magnificence, ah ! roll along, 

The glittYmg slave of pageant-loving prici 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 39 



MM »«••«• • ••» • 



And shine supreme amidst the birthnight throng, 
(Much envyM lot) some Timon's splendid bride. 

These all my pity, more than envy raise ; 

The arts of pride reflection cannot drown ; 
And while your face the mask of mirth displays, 

Your aching heai* will sigh for bliss unknown* 

Mine be the maid whose sentiments refin'd, 
Not fortune with her golden lure can move ; 

Who seeks alone the mutual-kindling mind, 
And nobly asks for nought in love, but love. 

With gen'rous scorn*' her guileless soul disdains 
The poor low triumph of a little mind, 

To smile exulting o'er ^Lover's pains, 
And taunt the wretch to misery consigned. 

Tender, ingenuous, devoid of art, 

Not meaning ill, nor idly fearing wrong, 

The genuine dictates of her gentle heart, 

Flow pure and artless from her faithful tongue. 



40 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Truth should her brightest, richest meed prepare, 
To bless the maid, who does her truth avow ; 

And on the tender, and the constant fair, 

Should Love and Faith their choicest gifts bestow. 

Unfriended let him live, that can deceive, 
And that kind heart to lovelorn woe consign ; 

For him no sympathizing bosom heave, 

That, wanton, e'er shall force a sigh from thine. 




OCCASIONAL PIECES. 41 



FORCE OF VIRTUE. 



A tear bedew'd Monimia's eye, 
And her soft bosom heav'd a sigh, 

A sigh that told her deep distress, 
When young Lothario, gay and bold, 
His wild licentious wishes told, 

Those wishes virtue would s repress. 

a Apostate now to love and truth, 

And canst thou ask me-— ^recreant youth ! 

To grant thee all thy wild desire ? 
Ah! soon — full soon the witless maid, 
By love and boundless trust betrayed 

Shall see thy transient flame expire. 

Tell me no more of beauties bright, 
Thou'lt spurn them from thy loathing sight, 

When once thou seest them stain'd with crime ; 
I 2 



42 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Soon will thy satiate passion sleep, 
And then must I forsaken weep, 
And joyless pass the lingering time* 

Ah ! if to be thy virtuous bride, 
Is the blest lot to me deny'd, 

Then let us now forever part ; 
If in thy breast I only claim 
The wishes of a lawless flame, 

I'll tear thy image from my heart," 

Virtue's firm voice the youth appall'd, 
And honor's conscious sense recall'd, 

Extinct in passion's giddy hour — 
And now, tho' many years are flown, 
Monimia hears the husband own 

Her beauty's unabated pow'r. 



- 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 4o 



CONTENT: 

A VISION, 



'Twas underneath a poplar shade, 
Alone, I pensive musing stray'd ; 
The lengthening boughs luxuriant spread 
Their foliage rustling o'er my head, 
While thro' them quiv'ring in the gale, 
All trembling shot the moon-beams pale ; 
Not far I heard upon the road, 
The carman drive his rumbling load ; 
And passing thro' the soften'd gleam, 
Jocund he whistled to his team. 
" How happy is yon swain," I cry'd, 
And I (but not for envy) sigh'd, 
" No proud ambition fires his breast, 
Or anxious cares disturb his rest ; 
His toil supplies his daily bread, 
And smooths at night his homely bed ; 



44 .OCCASIONAL -PIECES. 



.*•.*»»»***»»*»• 



Contented with his portion scant, 
His only wish is — not to want. 
While wit and genius so desir'd, 
So much applauded and admir'd, 
From those who do them most possess, 
But serve to banish happiness ; 
Nor wealtknor envy'd honor fjwbiuj 
Enjoy'd without ; attendant care." 
As meditating thus Istray'd, 
I sat me down beneath the shade- 
While on the verdant turf reclin'd, 
Soft sleep o'ercame my weary mind ; 
When suddeii to my wand'ring sight, 
Appear'd a form divinely bright : 
So soft and graceful was her air, 
She might with Venus well compare. 
The robe she wore was purest white, 
Bound with a rosy girdle tight ; 
Her hair hung loose and unconfin'd, 
In ringlets wanton' d in the wind; 
Her blushing cheek surpassed the rose, 
Her swelling bosom purest snows ; 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 45 



The flowerets bloom'd beneath her feet, 

With charms more fair and breath more sweet. 

Advancing near, " Fond youth," she cries, 

(Reproof soft beaming in her eyes) 

" Why dost thou thoughtlessly repine, 

For that content which may be thine ? 

These fruitless, needless, plaints repress, 

'Tis men who make their own distress ; 

When not contented with their lot, 

They only think of what they've not : 

They'll drop a true substantial prize, 

To catch a shadow as it flies. 

Content's the chiefest wish of all, 

Yet on how few the lot does fall ! 

They oft too inconsid'rate range, 

The means too oft they fondly change ; 

Her steps they in each object see, 

But she's not in variety. 

You poets too have help'd the cheat, 

And added to the vain deceit. 

Some say she's in the rural scene, 

With rustics dancing on the green; 



46 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Or else among the shepherd swains, 
Who tend their flocks on verdant plains* 
Some on a murm'ring riv'let's side, 
Whose waters o'er smooth pebbles glide ; . 
And some midst shady >bow?rs« and groves, 
And where the love-.lofm virgin roves. 
Say why the rural scene delights? 
Or why the murm'ring stream invites ? 
And why the simple swains, who keep 
On verdant plains their fleecy sheep.} 
Are so much happier thought than you, 
Who ardently content pursue ? 
'Tis not for this — that there alone 
Content and peace have rear'd their throne- 
Content resides not here or there, 
'Tis no where, or. 'tis every where* 
And those of just enough posses*, 
In humble happy ign'rance blest ; 
Their sober minds ne'er learn'd to soar 
Beyond their state, or wish for more.' 
Go! — and contract each vain desire, 
Which pride or envy would inspire, 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 47 



And keep yourself within the state 
Prescribed by fortune, will, or fate; 
Dismiss inquiry, and you'll find, 
Contentment centered in the mind. 



TO ELIZA. 

Upon Eliza's lovely face, 
I saw imprinted every grace 
That can, or captivate the heart, 
Or pleasure to the soul impart ; 
The charms that in her person shone, 
Were equal'd by her mind alone- 
Soft hope thus whisper'd in my ear — 
(Her soothing voice I ravishM -hear) 
The charms thy longing eyes now see, 
May be enjoyVl, blest youth I by thee. 



48 OCCASIONAL PIECES-. 



To hope I all my soul resign'd, 
She pour'd such rapture o'er my mind, 
That to the sweet impulse I gave 
Myself, with joy, a willing slave : 
While thus my thoughts enraptured rove, 
And hope augments the fire of Love, 
I start, with sudden dread, to hear 
Despair thus thunder in my ear, — 
Fond youth, the false illusion flee, 
Such pleasure was not made for thee. 

The pleasing phantoms hope had rais'd, 

All fled confounded and amaz'd, 

My senses were in stupor bound, 
Stunn'd by despair's terrific sound : 
Now doubts and fears so intervene, 
That hope is but a distant scene ; 
No more I hear th' enchanting voice, 
That bids each human heart rejoice ; 
I fear the dread event will be, 
These pleasures were not made for me. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 49 



Whether despair or hope said true, 
Must be, my fair, reveal'd by you ; 
On you my hopes and fears rely, 
To bid me live, or doom to die ; 
Your lovely charms my passions move, 
And waken all my soul to love : 
Ah ! triumph not in causing grief, 
And then withhold the wish'd relief, 
But let — ah ! let yqur sentence be, 
LovM swain, I give myself to thee* 




50 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



DELIA : 

A PASTORAL BALLAD — IN TOUR PARTS. 
LOVE. 

I no longer, as usual, can boast 

Of an heart that's unfettered with cars e 
All my wonted indiflPrence I've lost, 

Since first I saw Delia the fair. 
The first time I saw the sweet maid, 

Like a bride look so blooming and gay, 
Thrilling transports around my heart play'd, 

But with Delia they vai)ish'd away. 

2 Twas from her I this pleasure receiv'd: 

At length by experience I find, 
Tho', indeed, I could scarce have believ'd 5 

Love e'er w r ould have enter'd my mind ; 
For I oft thought that Poets had feigu'd, 

The soft tales they related of Love ; 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 51 

That the violence of passion was strain VI, 
But, alas ! quite mistaken I prove ! 

For no language can ever reveal, 

Tho' drest with the Bard's utmost art. 
The tumult of passions I feel> 

Or the anguish that preys at my heart : 
So careless of late I have grown, 

I've unthinkingly broken my hook ; 
By a riv'let as late I sat down, 

My scrip tumbled into the brooks 

O'er the plains my poor lambkins now roam, 

Unregarded their bleatings resound ; 
I ne'er bring the poor wanderers home, 

But leave them all scatter'd around : 
Thro' the vales, thro' the woodlands \ stray, 

Their beauties I've often admir'd, 
Now I wander, I care not which way, 

And at night come home weary' d and tir'd. 

Once how lovely the vale did appear, 
What charms in each scene did I see ; 



32 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Still the face of the vallies are fair, 
But now they've no beauties for me a 

Two turtles with pleasure I view'd, 
As they sat on the quivering' spray \ 

Responsive they courted and coo'd— * 
But I now from the scene turn away. 

For this anguish and pain I endure, 

Can a remedy never be found ? 
Ah ! no one this anguish can cure, 

But she who inflicted the wound : 
Yet if my complaint she won't hear, 

The fruitless pursuit I'll give o'er ; 
From my- bosom her image I'll tear, 

And think of fair Delia no more* 

But, alas 1 'twill be labor in vain, 
To attempt to forget that I love, 

(Love will always it's empire regain) 
'Tis too fast with my heart interwove ! 

Will the fair my petition disdain ? 

Will she turn with contempt from my sighs } 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. S3 



No ; her heart is too soft to give pain, 
Or I read a false.tale in her eyes. 

An aspect so mild oan't conceal 

In it's bosom an heart that's unkind^ 
For 'tis said that the eyes will reveal 

The passion that rules in the mind ; 
Then I'll venture to hope she will hear, 

With pity, the tale of her swain j 
From my heart I will banish all fear, 

And hie to her over the plain.. 



PART THE SECOND, 

SOLICITUDE. 

How perplexing a state is suspense ; 

How heaves my full bosom with care ; 
I can never expel it from hence, 

Whilst suspended 'twixt hope and despair* 
Should I fancy my fair may be kind, 

I dare scarcely encourage the thought. 
g2 



54 OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



Or indulge the soft hope in my mind, 
Since a frown may reduce it to nought. 

Yet, alas ! if I strive to repel, 

By reflection the passion I feel, 
My affections 'gainst reason rebel, 

And love on my purpose will steal ; 
Something whispers and kindly imparts, 

That our passion may mutual be ; 
That a sympathy dwells in the hearts, 

Those hearts that were born to agree. 

As a loadstone the needle will draw, 

Thus attractive's the influence of Love ; 
So I think — and I hope 'twill be so : 

My complaint her kind pity will move : 
Come hope ! thou sweet soother of grief, 

Still thy pow'r so composing impart ; 
Ah, still pour thy balmy relief 

On the anguish that preys on my heart! 

How my heart palpitates if I see 
Any maid tripping over the plain; 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. SB 



Then I wish it my Delia might be, 
But, alas I my fond wishes are vain. 

I met her, 'twas not long ago, 
A week, His I think, at the most, 

Near her door, as I happen'd to go 
To seek a stray lamb I h$d lost. 

I had pluck'd a sweet nosegay of flow'rs, 

And cull'd all the freshest and best ; 
She prais'd them-— I said they are yours ; 

She took them and pinn'd to her breast : 
Happy flow'rs ! — then I thought and I sigh'd, 

Might not I have that happiness too I 
Could the fair one to me have deny'd 

The place that she granted to you ? 

On my Delia's fond bosom reclin'd, 
The world's empty grandeur I'd scorn ; 

No anguish could then pierce my mind, 
Or care in my heart plant a thornj; 

No ! — cares to the winds I'd consign ; 
And but to taste rapture so sweet, 



£6 OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



All the splendor of wealth I'd resign, 
Or a crown, if 'twas laid at my feet 

How greatly the hours I should prize , 

In my Delia's society blest, 
If she kindly would pity my sighs, 

Nor disdain to recline on my breast ; 
What transports could then equal mine I 

Then wealth I'd leave, miser, to thee ; 
The sot might possess too his wine ; 

But. give gentle Delia to me. 

How much I their maxims despise, 

Who tell us that Love's, but a name ; 
That it never perplexes the wise, 

And the foolish alone feel the flame : 
Those cannot have hearts that say so, 

Or tasteless of pleasure must prove, 
And that too the chief man can know 

The rapturous pleasures of Love. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES* 



PART THE THIRD, 



INVITATION. 

O could I on Delia prevail, 

Along with her swain to retire, 
To the bow'r which I've reared in the vale, 

I am sure she'd the prospect admire : 
It is sheltered behind from the cold, 

By tall groves of the 'spiring fir tree ; 
In the front charming prospects unfold, 

Sloping gradually down to the sea. 

Gently murm'ring a rivulet glides, 

In mazy meanders just by, 
O'erhung with green sallows its sides, 

(Beneath their cool shade one may lie) 
And there as they playfully skim, 

On the surface so limpid and clear, 



5fr OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



You may see all the fishes that swim, 
And their scales tipt with silver appear* 

My herds range at large o'er the plains, 

My Flocks clothe the valley with white, 
Plenteous stores too my dairy contains, 

From my cows drawn each morning and night ; 
Sweet melody reigns in my groves, 

Such, I know, would delight her to hear; 
The Linnets there warble their loves, 

And the Blackbird sits whistling near. 

The Goldfinch, the Lark, and the Thrush, 

To make a sweet concert conspire ; 
The Redbreast too, from the thorn bush, 

Joins his wild warbling note to the choir : 
There too we may oftentimes see, 

The nest of the wild Turtle-dove, 
Where she builds in some ivy -bound tree, 

Sweet emblem of conjugal love 1 

Sometimes on the beach we would w r alk, 
When the waves gently break at our feet, 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 59 



Beguiling the time with our talk — 

And would not such converse be sweet? 

Or else on the cliff top so high, 

That juts o'er it's base to the main, 

We would oft the tall vessels espy, 
As they traverse the wide liquid plain, 

Oft we'd sit on the sloping green hill, 

Where it's sides are o'erspread with our flocks ,* 
Or rest on the bank near the rill, 

That gurgling rolls down from the rocks ; 
O ! did she but choose to retire, 

To those regions of pleasure serene, 
She could not (I think) but admire. 

The sweet rural charms of the scene* 

When every thing's smiling around, 
When every thing's festive and gay, 

In what heart can a murmur be found,' 
Or the least discontent ever stay ? 

Nought but scenes of "soft pleasure are here. 
And nought else e'er appears to the sight;- 



60 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Yet these pleasures would Delia but share. 
It wouldfdoubly increase their delight. 

PART THE FOURTH. 

REJECTION. 

Go my flock where ye list on the plain, 

And leave your fond shepherd to \yeep ; 
I shall never be able again 

To guide your stray steps, my poor sheep : 
Ah do not your shepherd reprove, 

That he^ leaves you untended to stray ; 
Ere his heart felt the anguish of Love, 

He was never once out of the way. 



There was once that you never could stray, 
That you never untended could roam, 

For I constantly watch'd you all day, 

And at nightfall I gathered you home ; 
Ah ! that happiness lost now I mourn, 
I those days once so tranquil deplore, 



OCCASIONAL PIECES, 61 



They are past, and will never return, 
I, alas ! shall be happy no more. 

So sweetly my Delia then smil'd, 

Her soft eyes spoke the language of Love, 
And, alas ! my fond heart she beguiPd, 

Nor could I resist if I'd strove : 
Why does love such soft wishes impart? 

Why plant in our bosoms desire ? 
Yet his influence confine to one heart, 

And not mutual impressions inspire* 

O ! ye Zephyrs, attend to my lay, 

Ah ! waft these sad sighs to my dear ; 
Ye gales on your wings, ah ! convey 

My complaints to my Delia's ear ; 
Ah ! tell her I constantly mourn, 

Ah ! tell her what anguish and pain 
I feel till she bid me return, 

And indulge my fond hopes once again* 

But, alas ! 'tis too true, I have heard 
Her reject all my vows with disdain ; 
ii 



62 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



When my suit I so -warmly preferrd. 
She told me. that suit was in vain : 

Now I wander alone through the grove, 
Quite forlorn and dejected I stray, 

Since Delia has slighted my love, 
Since Delia's rejected my lay. 

How I shrunk at the sentence severe, 

When I hop'd the reward of my paini 
Ah ! the sound still vibrates on my ear, 

Which told me my suit was in vain ! 
I could not once lift up my eyes, 

From her sight, as I silent withdrew ; 
My voice was so choak'd with my sighs, 

I scarcely could bid her adieu, 

I will hie to your shades — lonely woods-— 
Kindred glooms may invite to repose ; 

Heave your billows — ye turbulent floods 1 
My bosom thus heaves with my woes : 

Ah ! still in your shades I shall sigh \ 
Sfeill my sorrows will follow me there i 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 63 



Hope, adieu ! — for wherever I fly, 
My attendants are grief and despair. 



HYMN TO CONTENTMENT. 

Is there a man, of sense refin'd, 
When sick'ning woes oppress his mind 5 
When frustrate hope, or cold disdain, 
Infuse their life-embitt'ring pain, 
And bid him, with retorted scorn, 
The world and all its minions spurn ; 
That would from all these pangs be free, 
But sighs, and wistful looks to thee ? 

Is there a bard, of feelings strong, 
Who, lone, records the melting song, 
And to the passing breeze complains, 
And pours his soul in pensive strains, 
That doth not twine for thee the wreath, 
And ardent at thine altar breathe 



<H OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



The gentle wish, that e'er will be, 
With pious fervor, poured to thee ? 

On life's rough ocean, tempest tost, 
Far from the friendly shelt'ring coast; 
When the dark skies, the howling storm, 
And conflict rude, the scene deform ; 
Who can maintain the weary strife, 
And combat with the shocks of life, 
Nor long to reach, with ardor keen, 
Thy tranquil port, thy calm serene ? 

No goblins haunt thy quiet plain ; 
No jars disturb thy peaceful reign ; 
Nor e'er malignant demons dare 
To spread alarm and terror there ; 
But thither fairy elves resort, 
And keep unscar'd thy nightly court, 
And gaily dance their frolic round, 
And scatter bounties o'er the ground. 

! could I find thy fav'rite grove, 

1 there in tranquil ease would rove— 



OCCASIONAL PIECES 65 



Wilt thou admit a mortal guest, 
Within thy coy retreats to rest? 
Ah ! much I fear that wild desire, 
Pride's haughty swell, Ambition's fire, 
And passion's mad licentious train, 
Would soon overturn thy gentle reign. 

Alas ! how much unfit is he, 
To dwell in peaceful calm with thee, 
Within whose heart lurks secret care, 
Or baneful passions harbor there ! 
'Tis he alone, whose stedfast soul 
Can all their madd'ning rage controul ; 
Who bursts, with firm resolve, the chain, 
And can to be their slave disdain. 




H 2 



66 OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



LINES 

Addressed to a young Lady, who wrote many beautiful 
Poetical Pieces y which appeared in the* Hull 
Advertiser, signed 

NEMORINA. 



Ah ! why (sweet songstress of the lonely grove !) 
No more you touch the poet's tuneful lyre ? 

Why cease you with the gentle muse to rove, 
And sing those themes her converse can inspire? 

I erst have sigh'd, when o'er my languid head 
The sylvan warblers ceas'd their sprightly strain ; 

When frighted Philomela sudden fled, 

And left me lonely wand'ring to complain. 

But can the wild notes of the feather'd choir, 
Melodious trilling o'er the warbler's tongue, 

Give the delight those nobler themes inspire, 
Which prompt the poet's intellectual song? 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 67 



Again resume (sweet songstress of the grove !) 
Your lyre, and touch it with a master's art; 

Again repeat the dulcet strains I love, 
And pour new pleasures on the gladden'd heart. 



ON THE AUTHORS WRITING A LET- 
TER TO HIS MOTHER, 



O'er joyless barren heaths, or rocky vales, 
O'er lofty mountains, and o'er sylvan dales, 
That part me from the dear maternal eye, 
With tenderest wishes wing'd, O ! Letter, fly ; 
Swift as the eagle's pinions cleave the air, 
The soft effusions of this bosom bear ! 
(O ! rather mounted on the bounding steed , 
Myself would fly and urge his swiftest speed : 
By filial transport mov'd, outstrip the wind, 
And leave the hills, the dales, the plains behind, 
The sweets of kind maternal joy to prove, 
And pay the tribute of my filial love) 



'68 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



O, Thou ! whose early counsel form'd my mind ; 
Whose judgment guided, and whose taste refin'd : 
Say, how you find the antiquated dome, 
Whose lofty walls must be your future home* 

When o'er the moors you beat your tedious way, 
Phoebus, resplendent, bless'd the vernal day ; 
In rocky caverns, stretching deep and wide, 
Beneath th' Eolian mountain's rugged side, 
Their monarch safely locked each stormy wind, 
In durance firm their swelling rage confih'd : 
Zephyrus only placid, calm and mild, 
Blew lightly, floating o'er the boundless wild : 
No foes appear'd with frowning terrors arm'd, 
No danger threaten'd r and no fears alarm'd : 
Arriv'd at length, nor by fatigue o'ercome, 
With cheerful hearts you hail'd your future home : 
These, if a son's fond wishes could impart 
(Wishes that flow spontaneous from th^ heart) 
You had — and, ev'ry former scene resign'd, 
Ne'er sigh'd or look'd with fond regret behind. 
Ah ! what regret! for nothing could you leave 
Might ask a tear, or cause your breast to heave \ 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 69 



No parting friend the briny torrent pours, 

Sighs to your sighs, or mingles tears with yours ; 

You can regret no social kind delights, 

No pleasing converse, and no festive nights. 

Alas ! hard apathy, with icy mound, 

Has fenc'd each heart, each frigid heart, around ; 

Rude as the soil the sun-burnt rustic roves, 

Through flow'ry meadows, and through leafy groves ; 

Yet sees no beauties in the fertile plain, 

But as his crops or herds increase his gain; 

Nor dreams, while toiling thro 5 the solar light, 

That social converse can afford delight. 

Their dowdy dames deserve no higher, praise ; 

Such like employments, too, consume their days : 

No higher aim their homely wishes mean, 

Than cheeses firm, eggs plenty, butter clean. 

No other subject e'er employs their tongues, 

But what to their domestic toil belongs ; 

If scandal e'er for higher powers should call, 

But a dull tale you hear — and that is all. 

I think I see the children's great surprize, 

When first the ocean met their wond'ring eyes, 



70 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



Wide o'er the blue expanse, their eager sight, 
Beholds the distant bark, with sails of white, 
Direct it's course, and, bounding o'er the wave, 
In search of gain, storms, rocks, and billows brave : 
I see them running, eager to pursue, 
With the next sun, the variegated view ; 
With gladden'd hearts stroll o'er the sandy shore, 
And find a thousand things unknown before. 

I come ! ye hills, ye russet heaths recede ! 
Give way, ye mountains, to my eager speed ! 
Tho' rocks oppose, tho' rivers cross my way, 
Nor rocks, nor rivers, shall my journey stay; 
Though passing, unconducted and alone, 
Through paths before untravell'd and unknown: 
O'er filial love, the Genius who presides, 
Attends my travel, and my footsteps guides ; 
Like Tobit's angle (tho' unseen) befriends ; 
Close at my side the faithful sylph attends, 
Points out my path, amidst the devious maze 
Of rugged roads, and scarce imprinted ways. 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 71 



ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF MISS ***** 
OF HULL. 



At length, my Anne, revolving time, 
With steady pace, unheard, unseen, 

Urings on the stage of youthful prime, 
Th' important era of sixteen. 

'Tis now that evVy ripening charm. 
Unfolds its captivating pow'r ; 

And our fond hearts, elate and warm, 
Are now for Lovers soft joys mature. 

But, ah! my friend, with jealous care, 
List to the syren's artful wile ; 

For Love will spread the hidden snare, 
And faithless shepherds will beguile. 

Behold the half unfolding rose, 
'Midst thousand riper beauties stand. 






>—■» 



72 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



As with a fresher sweet she blows, 

More strongly tempts the gath'rer's hand. 

'Tis thus with beauty, joy and youth, 
Where'er the blended charms appear ; 

They seldom hear the voice of truth, 
Reserv'd to sooth a riper year. 

Ah I listen only to the swain, 
By parent tenderness approv'd ; 
Let him alone your kindness gain, 
And be alone the youth belov'd. 

Well should we guard our treacherous hearts, 
That oft, too oft, ourselves deceive : 

Unpractis'd in Love's mazy arts, 
Too soon they prompt us to believe. 

And then, when past life's ardent noon r 
And youth's capricious heat is fled, 

Long, long, shall each returning June, 
Pour choicest blessings on your head. 



OCCASIONAL 11. 



THE LOVERS TO THEIR FAVORITE 
TREI 

Long the wintVy tempests braving, 

Still this short inscription keep; 
Still preserve this rude engraving, 

Ox* thy bark, imprinted deep : 

•* In the hospital endowed by an ancestor of Sir Cfmi 
Turner , Bart, at Kirkleatham, amongst other natural and 
artificial curiosities, is a very singular tree, It had been 
cut down, and divided into lengths, for the purpose of con- 
verting it into fire-wood, hut upon its being split by the wood- 
man's wedge, the heart of the tree turned out round and en-. 
tire; the outward part which enclosed it, being about the 
thickness of four inches. Round the inner bole or heart, 
which is about afoot in diameter, are several letters, carv- 
ed in a rude and seemingly irregular manner, but upon a 
closer observation are found to wind round the woodin a spi- 
ral form, and the following couplet is plainly legible: 

This tree long time tvitness bear, 

Txvo true-lovers didxvalk here, 
There are likewise other letters, which seem to be the ini- 
tial of the Lovers'* names, who appear to have frequented 
the solitary spot where the tree has groxvn, to vent the effu- 
sions of their mutual passion, and to enjoy the pleasure of 
each others conversation sequestered and unobserved. 

i 



#4t OCCASIONAL PIECES. 



u This* tree, long time witness bear, 
u Two True-lovers did walk here.'* 

By the softest ties united, 

Love has bound our souls in one ; 
And by mutual promise plighted, 

Waits the nuptial rite alone^ — 
Thou, a faithful witness bear, 

Of our plighted promise here. 

Tho' our sires would gladly sever 
Those firm ties they disallow, 

Yet they cannot part us ever— 
We will keep our faithful vow. 

And in spite of threats severe. 

Still will meet each other here. 

While the dusky shade concealing, 
Veils the faultless fraud of love, 

We from sleepless pillows stealings 
Nightly seek the silent grove : 



OCCASIONAL PIECES. 75 



And escap'd from eyes severe, 
Dare to meet each other here. 

Wealth and titles disregarding 
(Idols of the sordid mind) 

Calm content true love rewarding, 
Is the bliss we wish to find. — 

Thou tree, long time witness bear, 

Two such Lovers did walk here. 

To our faithful love consenting 
(Love unchanged by time or tide) 

Should our haughty sires relenting, 
Give the sanction yet deny'd; 

'Midst the scenes to memory dear, 

Still we oft will wander here. 

Then our evVy wish completed. 

CrOwn'd by kinder fates at last, 
All beneath thy shadow seated, 

We will talk of seasons past ; 



■ ■ «■» 



7b 



OCCASIONAL PIECES, 



When, by night, in silent fear, 
We did meet each other here* 

On thy yielding bark, engraving 
Now in short our tender tale, 

Long, time's roughest tempest braving, 
Spread thy branches to the gale ; 

And, for ages, witness bear, 

Two True4overs did walk here. 




- 



ELEGIAC PIECES. 



COMPLAINT OF A CIRCASSIAN SLAVE, 

CONFINED IN THE OTTO- 

MAN SERAGLIO, 



What means this aching void withiri my breast ? 

This poignant grief that wrings my throbbing heart ? 
Not Selim's ample gifts can make me blest, 

No joy his warm caresses can impart. 

Alas ! amidst the frauds of venal love, 

I sigh for something which I cannot find ; . 

Far from the festive scene my wishes rove, 
Not by the Haram's lofty walls confin'd. 
I 2 



7& ELEGIAC PIECES. 



Back to Circassia's citron groves I fly, 

Scenes of my youth ! where thro' the fragrant shade, 
Aw'd by no Kislaar's terror-darting eye, 

Content and careless often have I stray'd. 

Ah ! why did partial nature, on my face, 
With lavish hand, diffuse the crimson glow ? 

Why to this form impart an envy'd grace, 
Or bid my voice with tuneful sweetness flow ? 

Had not my fates the tempting mischief giv'n, 
To prompt my sordid father's golden dreams, 

Secure and blest beneath my native heav'n, 

I still had dwelt by Haban's * wand'ring streams. 

Hard is my fate ! forc'd from my native land, 
The slave of lust, on foreign coasts to live ; 

To a capricious master's stern command, 
What love refuses, fear compels to give. 

No soft emotion rugged Selim feels, 

Love's gentle influence never touch'd his heart : 

• A River of Circassian 



ELEGIAC PIECES. 79 

From sick reluctance, what he rudely steals, . 
What pleasure can it to his soul impart? 

Reflection turns abhorrent at the thought ; 

Soft nature shrinks, as from the poison'd bowl ; 
And hates, tho' by parental lessons taught, 

To feign the joys that never touch the soul i 

Ah ! blush, ye parents, whom the thirst of gold, 
Has steel'd to Nature's strong, tho' silent claim ; 

The broken tie, the virgin honor sold, 

Must overwhelm your sordid minds with shame. 

Sure Nature's Parent never could intend, 

So vile a traffic, and a sale so base ; 
The father, sure, was meant to be the friend, 

And not the pander to his child's disgrace, 

Circassian maids, assert the rights of love ! 

The freebo*n pleasure, servitude disdains ; 
As the light bird that wings from grove to grove, 

It flies from force, and spurns coercive chains, 



80 ELEGIAC PIECES, 



No longer tamely yield to tyrant fear, 

Heed not their frowns, who break thro' Nature's laws ; 
But rise ! to whom a virtuous love is dear, 

Scorn the vile thraldom and defend your cause ! 

How happy they, whom partial fates have made 
Free in their choice, and whom no fetters bind, 

But softest union joins the swain and maid, 
The mutual passion and congenial mind. 

Ah me ! what angry star malignant shone, 
What evil genius on my birth-day frown'd, 

That form'd for freedom and chaste love alone, 
This hated Haram should enclose me round ? 

O had kind heav'n a happier lot ordain'd ! 

O had I been in gentler regions born ! 
Then had my soul her utmost wishes gain'd, 

Nor sought to weep in secret shades forlorn. 

Ah ! then some dear-lovM youth had bless'd my arms 
(Nor vain that secret hope my thoughts approve) 



ELEGIAC PIECES. 81 



Our hearts enrapt with mutual fond alarms, 
And blest with all the smiling train of love. 

Now in hard durance, without hope of end, 
Lock'd in the strong seraglio's dull confine, 

No youth I see, no sympathizing friend, 
No heart that beats in unison with mine. 

Here in these wails forever close immur'd, 
Hopeless, I pine the dreary time away \ 

By massy bolts and jealous guards secured, 
In gloomy sadness glides the pasting day. 

In giddy mirth my partners dance along, 
Nor feel their slavery, nor to feel desire : 

So the tame bird chants forth its thoughtless song, 
That long inclos'd heeds not the imprisoning wire. 

But, oh ! when shall my ardent soul forget, . 

The secret wish that prompts the frequent sigh? 
Not till this wounded heart shall cease to beat, 

And death's cold hand shall close this streaming eye, 



k " ^ 



82 



ELEGIAC PIECES, 



O come, at length, sweet solace to my woes t 
Thy friendly aid can set the captive free ! 

Low in the grave I hope to find repose, 
That long, a stranger, ceas'd to visit me. 

And wasted by the ruffian hand of woe, 
My heart, alas ! anticipates its doom ; 

Soon shall the vital current cease to flow, 
And fate consign me to an early tomb. 




ELEGIAC PIECES, 83 



THE SLIGHTED MAID, 



The bells that from yon distant tow'r, 

So jocund Damon's marriage tell 
Tho' now they hail the blissful hour, 

Will soon proclaim my fun'ral knell: 
Ah ! Damon, e'er thy flatt'ring tale 

My unsuspicious nature won, 
I gaily sung o'er hill and dale, 

Blithe as the bird that hails the sun. 

Amidst the hymeneal train, 

Ah ! should it to thy ear be borne ; 
Thy slighted nymph along the plain, 

Strays (wretched rover !) all forlorn : 
Say, will a gentle struggling sigh 

Escape amidst the festive scene ? 
Will mem'ry's retrospective eye, 

Look back on days that once have been i 






84 ELEGIAC PIECES. 



Alas ! ungrateful as thou art, 

For thee these ceaseless sorrows flow ; 
For thee this fond, this swelling heart, 

Will break amidst the shocks of woe : 
But, Damon, when my corse is laid 

All pale along th' untimely bier ; 
Say, for the poor forsaken maid, 

Wilt thou let fall a tender tear ? 

When roving o'er the hallow'd ground, 

Encircled all with mournful yew, 
Should the green sod that clasps me round, 

Obtrusive catch thy careless view : 
Say, as thou gazest on my dust, 

With conscious feelings wilt thou glow ? 
And to thy once-loved Anna just, 

Will pity's glist'ning current flow ? 

Ah, no ! in earth's cold bosom laid, 
Let me, unwept, forgotten lie ; 

Nor (tho' 't would soothe my lonely shade) 
Bestow on me one single sigh — 






ELEGIAC PIECES, 



'Twould wrong the fair, the happy bride, 
Whom kinder fates have join'd to thee ; 

Be then that last sad claim deny'd, 
And never once reflect on me. 



ELEGY ON THE YOUNG, BEAUTIFUL 

AND ACCOMPLISHED LADY 

GRANTLEY. 



Say, shall the muse with heedless step pass by, 
All beauteous Grantley, thy too early tomb ? 

Can the wild rover's unregarding eye, 

O'erlook so fair a flower's untimely doom ? 

Not till this melting heart shall cease to feel, 
Can she withhold the tributary tear ; 

From sombre shades funereal cypress steal, 
And pensive strew it o'er the mournful bier. 

Ah me ! nor youth, nor beauty can impart 
Protecting aid, or purest virtue save, 

K 



36 1LEGTAC PIECES, 



From death's relentless pow'r, and careless dart, 
From the fierce ravin of the greedy grave. 



had but these possessed that gentle powV, 
i only those the stern destroyer stay'd ; 
i hen ling-ring destiny's protracted hour, 
Its coming Graittley would have long delay 'd. 



Then many a year revolving o'er thy head, 
Might to thy virtues daily blessings bring; 

And thine attendant angel round thee shed 
Reviving dews, from kind Hygeia's spring. 

That night, when first to hail the royal bride, 
From kindred Brunswick to our isle convev'd, 

Thou didst propose, in beauty's faultless pride, 
And all the elegance of dress array'd. 

That very night, the fatal torpor prest 

Thy languid eye, and rifled all thy bloona ; 

The sanguine current's vital flow represt, 
And chang'd thy ball-room to a clay-cold U 



ELEGIAC MIXES. 87 



Perhaps, too lovely lower courts to grace, 
Admiring angels urg'd thy soul to rise, 

Disdaining earth, to seek its native place, 
And join the bright assembly of the skies. 



EFFUSION OF MELANCHOLY. 



Why nature did thy erring hand impart, 

So vague a present as a feeling heart ? 

Why on that heart the painful pow'r bestow, 

To melt in soft affection's thrilling glow; 

Yet ne'er the bliss of mutual passion prove, 

Or taste the joys of sympathetic love ? 

If human happiness be thy design, 

And fate's strong hand mark out the destin'd line, 

Ah ! why so rarely join'd, in union sweet, 

Do kindred minds and souls congenial meet? 

This ardent-bosom, wrung with anguish dire., 

And all the agonies of soft desire, 



_/%, 



88 ELEGrAC PIECES. 



That joyless, comfortless, must mourn in vain, 
Beneath a hopeless passion's tyrant reign,- 
With too much reason blames thy stern regard, 
Thy cruel bounty, and thy idndness hard. 

Far better had thy care maternal shewn 

Insensate apathy, a heart of stone ; 

Cold, listless, dulness, never taught to feel, 

Shot thro' the nerves the agonizing thrill, 

The kindling wish, or soul-transpiercing pain, 

When the heart finds its gentle wishes vain : 

Then calm, secur'd from passion's boisterous gale, 

My bark would smoothly thro' life's ocean sail ; 

And not, as now, from hope's firm anchor torn, 

Wide o'er the stormy waves, by sweeping winds be borne. 




ELEGIAC P1ECKS 



89 



COMPLAINT OF AN AFRICAN WOMAN 
FOR THE LOSS OF HER HUSBAND 



Poor child I (how contented it skeps) 

As yet quite a stranger to woe ; 
'Tis unknown why thy mother thus weeps, 

Why her tears thus incessantly flow : 
Ah, cease not to flow, briny tears ! 

Ye bring to my anguish relief^ 
Ye give vent to my heart-rending cares, 

And soften the sharpness of grief. 

Ah ! did ye not flow to my aid, 

My heart would have broken in twain - 7 

Alas ! by barbarians betray'd, 

I shall ne'er see my husband again ! 

The wretches well skilPd to beguile, 

With a smile on thy brow thou didst meet ; 

K2 



_ 



90 ELEGIAC PIECES. 



Ah ! why didst thou trust in that smile ? 
Beneath it lurk'd faithless deceit. 



I am told that in dungeons confin'd, 

Shut out from the light of the day, 
With strong fetters the captive they bind, 

Who is made (sad misfortune !) their prey : 
That in huge floating castles they're borne, 

To a country far distant from here — 
From all tender connexions they're torn, 

From all that their souls could hold dear* 



Far, far, they are borne from the soil 

Where their love, their affections remain ; 
And compelled for their tyrants to toil, 

To gather their harvests with pain. 
The sigh that is bursting my heart, 
Accuses my fondness and care ; 
Ah, why did I let thee depart ! 

In thy dangers why did not I share 1 



.ELEGIAC PIECES.. 91 



Ah, my child ! — rbut I shall not yet be 

Quite of all consolation bereft — 
I will cease to lament — since in thee, 

I still some small comfort have left x 
I will live ! — but it is for thy sake ! 

To thee I'll transfer all my care ; 
But for thee — I had plung'd in the lake, 

In the transports of grief and despair. 

To the wood's dark recesses I'll fly, 

Where fell tygers prowl nightly for prey ; 
Could I hide from these ravagers' eye— • 

The tyger's less cruel than they. 
'Tis hunger alone that excites 

These monsters to range thro' the wood ; 
But the Christian, more savage, delights 

To riot in carnage and blood. 

Grief will soon bring my life to a close, 
To the land I shall then wing my way, 

Where the spirits departed repose—- 
Impatient I wait for the day 1 



92 ELEGIAC PIECES. 



I again shall my husband behold, 

In safety reclin'd in the grove ; 
Where the fierce Christian thirsting for gold, 

Shall part me no more from my love. 



ELEGIAC VERSES, 

Written on the Grave of an unfortunate fair one, who fell * 
sacrifice toperfdy. 



As slowly wand'ring on, with pensive tread, 

I take my silent, solitary way ; 
Where lock'd in long enduring sleep, the dead 

Beneath the surface undistinguished lay. 

Keen recollection pointed out thy tomb, 
Hl-starr'd Amelia! lovely — hapless maid I 



M_ 



ELEGIAC PIECES. 93 



Plac'd in my view thy sad untimely doom, 
The broken vow, and innocence betray'd ; 

Once thou in all the pride of beauty drest, 
Tript light and careless o'er the dewy plain ; 

No secret care within thy peaceful breast, 
The darling toast of many an am'rous swain. 

Till by false William's flatt'ring speeches won, 
Thy heart confessed love's all subduing sway; 

At length — poor maid ! — too easily undone ! 
The wily rover fled thee far away. 

That shock, too rude, convuls'd thy gentle frame,, 
A weight of woes so great, too weak to bear; 

Too soft to meet the world's opprobrious shame, 
Or bear the rankling wounds of deep despair. 

These eyes beheld thy virgin bloom decay, 
From secret anguish undermining slow ; 

Health's vivid blush steal unperceiv'd away, 
And pale succeed the sickly hue of woe. 



94 ELEGIAC PIECES. 



The pining victim of ill-quited love-, 

Thy tender bosom with rude passions torn ; 

Oft have I seen thee wander thro 7 the grove, 
There sigh in secret, and there w r eep forlorn. 

So have I known a beauteous lilly fade. 

Close at whose root some hidden worm applies 

It's cank'ring bite — declines the flowret's head, 
Low sunk on earth it drooping pines and dies. 

When whisp'ringby the moon's chaste beam they rove, 
The swains and maids shall at thy tomb appear : 

There seal their vows of ever constant love, 
And heave a sigh, and drop a pitying tear. 

The mournful cypress grown spontaneous there, 

With quiv'ring boughs upbraids the perjur'd swain ; 

If on thy grave he steps, devoid of care, 

The. green sod heaves not heedless of thy pain. 



- 



ELEGIAC PIECES. 



95 



Ah! may thy death a friendly warning give, 
(Some comfort for thy melancholy fate) 

That maids taught caution, may with fear believe, 
Lest won too soon, they mourn their fall too late. 




• 



ODES. 



ODE 

TO THE; PEREMPTORY, ILL-NATURED, AND UN- 
WELCOME MONOSYLLABLE NO. 

Thou saucy malapert ! away ! 

Thy name, ah ! may I never hear, 

Nor blasts malignant e'er convey 
Thy mandate to my startled ear ; 

May winds disperse the sound in air, 
E'er on the trembling nerve imprest, 
(The sound that fills with grief the breast, 

And gives the heart to dire despair) 
All hateful ! may the maid I love renounce thee, 
And never, with averted look, pronounce thee. 







ODES. 97 

Full many a heart, oppress'd with woe, 
Has cause to mourn thy baleful pow'rs, 

That bid the stream of sorrow flow, 
Full fast adown in briny show'rs. 

For sweatmeats teazing, many a boy, 
Struck with the heart-appalling sound, 
Has weeping rolled along the ground, 

His little bosom dead to joy ; 
Or fled to vent the grief that rends his soul, 
In some dark corner or some gloomy hole. 

Thou offspring vile of tyrant pride, 

Thou lordest o'er the weak and poor ; 
Like surly porter, or sour mastiff try'd, 

Dost spurn the suppliant from the door — 
To wand'ring mendicants well known, 

Thy dreaded name gives little care, 
But sinks the wretch, who seeks a boon, 

In lowest depths of dark despair, 
The pliant courtier, at my Lord's levee, 
More than the devil dreads the sight of thee. 



03 



ODES. 



In all its gorgon terrors deck'd, 

Thy form the trembling poet scares j 

Who long, in spite of cold neglect, 
Has worry'd patronage with pray'rs. 

The wretched scribbler slow retires, 
Dejected, all his wishes crost, 
All hopes of future fortune's lost, 

And quench'd the muse's ardent fires ; 
Full well his lengthen'd face, and hollow cheek, 
The poignant anguish of his soul bespeak. 

The sighing lover, too, poor wight! 

By thee {hard case) expell'd from heav'n, 
Must quit his dear-lov'd fair-one's sight, 

And fly, to lonely deserts driv'n : 
Wild-starting, still he seems to hear, 
Re-echo'd 'midst the gloom profound, 
The dreadful hope-destroying sound, 

All sad vibrating on his ear : 
And lonely wand'ring o'er the wild, distrest, 
He strays forlorn, and weeping beats his breast* 







ODES. 



99 



Ah ! ne'er with rigor stern oppose 
The gentle wishes of a genial flame, 

Nor give a prey to hopeless woes, 
The heart a better meed may claim. 

But, when with wild, unbridled force, 
Heedless of reason's high behest, 
Rude passions sway the ardent breast, 

Restrain us in our headlong course : 
When we, forgetful, cease to act as men, 
Step resolute between, and check us then. 




*00 ODES. 



ODE TO RAGE. 

Hence, inflaming pow'r, depart! 
Ne'er shalt thou invade my heart ; 
Softer passions there shall reign, 
Passions that infuse no pain — 
When the deeply wounded breast 
Has received thee as its guest, 
Joy and peace that moment flee 
From the heart that harbors thee. 

Gloomy horrors on thee wait, 
Fell revenge, and deadly hate ; 
Furies shake their hissing hair, - 
And their fiery torches glare ; 
Hence enkindled flames the breast 
That admit thee as its guest ; 
Far all joy and pleasure flee 
From the heart that harbors thee. 



ODES. 



10l 



Where the steely falchion's blaze, 
(Widely flash the gleaming rays) 
And the clanging trump from far, 
Sounds the prelude of the war ; 
Thou that pantest then for blood, 
Glut thyself and swill the flood : 
Ev'ry throbbing heart inspire 
With thy hot vindictive Are ; 
But in flaming passion flee 
Far away, I beg, from me. 

Flashing eyes tnat straining roll 
Then bespeak the vengeful soul — • 
Sounds terrific, horrid cries, 
Victor shouts, and groans arise. 
Stalking o'er the heaps of dead, 
Blood-stain'd Vengeance rears her head, 
And with thee thro' all the plain, 
Fiercely wakes the war amain. 
Scenes that give delight to thee 
May they never visit me. 
12 



102 



ODES. 



Hence, depart, and seek the plains, 
Where infernal discord reigns, 
Or where storms receive their birth ; 
Thence impel the tempest forth ; 
Make the billows louder roar, 
Fiercer blasts assail the shore ; 
'Midst the whirlwinds rushing stream 
Reign thou there, and reign supreme ; 
But betake thee from my breast, 
There shall rule a milder guest — 
Hence vindictive passion flee, 
I'm enrag'd alone at thee. 




ODES. 103 



ODE TO FRIENDSHIP. 



Friendship ! sweet source of ev'ry joy, 
Thy smiles each frown of fate defy ; 

O let me call thee mine ! 
With thee I'll brave the heaviest storm, 
Distress and woe in ev'ry form ; 

O make this bosom thine I 

The happy pair, who own thy reign, 
Enjoy what monarchs seek in vain, 

And share the sweets of life ; 
Their home atnidst the warbling grove, 
The seat of Virtue and of Love, 

Is free from care and strife. 

Here kindness wipes the traveler's tear, 
Here tenderness and grace appear, 
To cheer the drooping mind; 



104- ODES. 

Here sickness finds a healing balm, 
Here troubles grow divinely calm, 
Where Love and Friendship's join'd. 

This consecrated blissful seat, 
Affords a safe and sweet retreat, 

From grief and haggard care ; 
Here streams of fond affection rise, 
And sympathy that never dies, 

To bless the happy pair. 

Hail, Friendship ! Queen of earthly joys, 
Without thee diadems are toys, 

And vain is nature's store ; 
With thee I would forever rest, 
Made by thy smile supremely blest, 

Nor ask the world for more. 



ODES. 10d 



ODE TO THE RISING SUN, 



Hail, great effulgent source of light ! 
Whose beams disperse the shades of night, 

And bring the gladsome day : 
Now, where the hoary ocean laves, 

Ting'd with the golden ray, 
Upon the floating surface green, 
Are thousand radiant colours seen. 

The lark, sweet harbinger of morn, 
(Soon as thy rising beams adorn, 

With light the orient skies) 
In air suspended on his wings, 
To thee his tuneful matin sings, 

And bids each warbler rise : 
The cock's shrill echo in the shed, 
Galls each lab'rer from his bed. 



^ 



106 ODES. 

What sparkling gems appear in view, 
Illusive shining midst the dew 

That strews the verdant lawn, 
Absorbed by thy potent ray, 
The glitt'ring spangles sink away 

Soon as the splendor's dawn : 
With hasty steps the village swain 
Brushes along the shining plain. 

See each variegated flower, 
Warm'd by thy enlivening power, 

Displays its fairest bloom ; 
The varied pink, and blushing rose, 
Their nightly folded leaves disclose, 

And breathe a sweet perfume : 
And thousand freshening flow'rets blown, 
Thy kind congenial influence own. 

When we behold thee glorious rise, 
With crimson dye the eastern skies, 
And bring returning light ; 



ODES. 107 



From other lands thy beam withdraws, 
Thou leav'st them to enjoy repose, 

Beneath the veil of night : 
Thus each extensive hemisphere 
Thy warm prolific rays do cheer. 

Hail, all glorious god of day! 
Whose kind invigorating ray 

Does Tight and life diffuse ! 
To view thy course with moral eye, 
Will with the noblest themes supply 

The contemplative muse I 
AwakM by thee it learns to soar, 
And the Creator's powV adore ! 




108 ODES. 



ODE TO DISAPPOINTMENT. 



Spem vetat inchoare longam. 

Relentless wilt thou still pursue ? 
Still keep thy hapless game in view, 
Nor ever quit thy fainting prey ? 
By elfin hands unseen, conveyed, 
Art thou the luckless present made, 
To mark the poet's natal day ! 
For still, with thee he holds unequal strife, 
Pursuing close thro 5 evVy maze of life. 

When youthful hope, elate, has shewn 
Gay scenes, by busy fancy drawn, 
And bid ideal prospects bloom ; 
When fond desire, with effort vain, 
On forward wing has strove to gain 
A certain taste of jbys to come ; 
Thine iron arm has scatter'd ruin round, 
And dash'd the fairy picture to tlje ground. 



ODES, 109 

When patriot zeal with nobler fire, 
Has bid his rising soul aspire, 

And warmly wish to serve mankind ; 
Yet thou the gen'rous heat oppos'd, 
And still, thy pow'r invet'rate cross'd 
Whatever his ardent thought designM, 
Bound him reluctant with coercive chain, 
And dragg'd to dull obscurity again. 

Yet why should mole-ey'd man repine ? 
Fix'd are the bounds, and firm the line, 

That marks out nature's mazy plan ; 
Nor should the poet's plaintive strain 
Alone of wayward fate complain, 
His lot's the common lot of man : 
Each of the bitter cup must sometimes share, 
Thy faithful mirror shews us what we are. 

Withdraw from me thy direful train 
Disgust, that on surmises vain 
His moody melancholy feeds ; 

M 



_ '-. 



110 



ODE§. 



And sorrow wan, and wand'ring wild, 
Despondence pale, thy sickly child, 
Uncouthly wrapt in sombre weeds : 
Still, in my breast, thy banditt passions rude 
Shall find a steadfast hope yet unsubdued, 

The Muse's. gentle dulcet pow'r 
Can, e'en in thy triumphant hour, 

Compose the tumult of my breast ; 
Her voice can sorrow's sting disarm. 
With gentle sorcery can charm- 
And lull corroding care to rest* 
I yet, as pensively- 1 steal along, 
Can soothe my sadness with a heartfelt song. 



ODES. til 



TO THE SPRING, 



Keenly o'er the wide heath sweeping, 
Wintry blasts still vex the plain ; 

Clad in daisies, early peeping, 

When will spring return again ? i 

Soon, ah ! soon, on genial wing, 

Life, and love, and pleasure bring. 

Not with war ? s grim train attended, 
Let thy mild approach be found, 

Let the horrid strife be ended, 
Bid the clarion cease to sound ; 

Soon, ah ! soon, on genial wing, 

Peace, and joy, and plenty bring. 

Careful o'er the ploughshare bending, 
Bid the swain resume his toil, 

And with grain in store attending, 
Bid the sower strew the soil ; 



112 ODES. 

Soon, ah ! soon, on genial wing, 
Hopes of future harvests bring. 

'Mid the pine trees, lonely cooing, 
Let the plaintive turtle wail ; 

Each, his mate, the warblers wooing, 
Bid them chant their am'rous tale : 

Thy return, on genial wing, 

Then each vocal grove shall sing. 

Bid the gentle showers water, 
Let enlivening Phoebus warm, 

Then, again, reviving nature 
Shall disclose her evVy charm ; 

Soon, refreshing zephyr, bring 

AU the breathing sweets of spring. 

Yet, with anxious thought, pursuing 
Causes of well grounded fear ; 

Scenes of want and sorrow viewing. 
Pity drops the silent tear : 



ODES. 113 



But, with speed, all-cheering spring, 
Better hopes and prospects bring. 



ODE TO NOVEMBER. 



Month of the gloomy brow, I feel, 

Within my breast, thy sadd'ning pow'r, 
As o'er the skies dank vapors steal, 

And slowly falls the drizzling showV. 
Where'er I turn with languid eye, 
I/jee thy frosty shiv'ring breeze 
Remorseless strip the sighing trees, 
And hurl their foliage thro' the sky ; 
While weeping nature bids the world retire, 
To seek the cheerful comforts of the winter's fire* 

The sylvan choir's responsive notes, 
Ne'er tell their loves, or joys to thee, 
M 2 



114 ODES. 

As whirPd in air the foliage floats, 

They silent quit the rifled tree. 
The Robin only, hopping near, 
Departing summer's latest child, 
His artless carol warbling wild, 
Aspires to please the listening ear : 
Perch'd on the naked thorn, his simple strain, 
Cheers the lone-labors of the ever-toiling swain. 

The blasted grove, the naked plain, 

All nature's aspect, dark, and drear, 
Proclaim thy soul-depressing reign, 

To ev'ry eye, and ev'ry ear : 
For oft, while winds of evening blow, 

Pale melancholy's sombre gloom, 
The timid soul to care will doom, 

And conjure up ideal woe ; 
And oft, unequal to th' internal strife, 
The drooping heart will sicken at the ills of life. 

Yet still I love thy solemn air, 

Thy sighing gale and sky o'trcast ; 



ODES. 115 

I see a gloomy beauty there, 

And fancy music in the blast. 
Yet chief, thy evening hours I prize, 

When o'er the hills, the vales, and streams, 
The pale moon's soften'd lustre gleams, 
And bids her shadowy forms arise ; 
There while I wander by the ray serene, 
I trace the pensive beauties of the silent scene. 

If only vernal blooms allure, 

If only summer suns delight, 
Who could thy surly blasts endure, 
Or winter's dreary dismal night ? 
But, till the rolling seasons cease, 
The heart that finer feelings warm, 
Nature in ev'ry form will charm, 
And still, in ev'ry change w T ill please. 
In ev'ry change, the varied scenes impart 
New sources of pure pleasure to the feeling heart. 

'Tis thine, the ardent breast to fire, 
To rouse the patriot's sacred rage, 



116 .ODES. 

And keenly wake the warm desire:, 

To trace the philosophic page. 
Thine, inspiration's raptiir'd hour, 
When the fond heart willkeenly glow, 
And bid the tuneful numbers flow, 
And ply the muse's forceful pow'r : 
And still, while fancy's fairy forms arise, 
The pensive bosom heaves at ev'ry breeze's sighs, 

I see, chill herald of the storm, 

The rigid tyrant follow fast; 
Fair nature shuns his dreaded form, 

And shrinks beneath his Arctic blast. 
But while the black'ning tempests rise, 

Hope flies to meet on forward wing 
The genial hours, when warmer skies 

Again shall wake the latent spring — 
When flow'rs once more shall deck the vernal plain, 
And all reviving nature gaily smile again. 



ODES. 117 



TO ENVY. 



Fell nurse of dark revengeful hate, 
On whom vindictive furies wait, 
Well do thy numVous crimes demand, 
Th' offended bard's correcting hand : 
Oi was that hand with power arm'd, 
As with the wish his breast is warm'd ! 
Where dire Phlegeton's fiery torrents roar, 
He'd chain thee fast, to vex mankind no more. 

Friendship's soft bond, or love's endearing tie, 
No more by sympathetic influence bind ; 

If thou intrudest — love and friendship fly, 
To sullen passions leave th' infected n>ind. 

Thy blood-shot eye darts pestilential fire, 
Destroys the genuine offspring of the heart ; 



118 ODES. 

The wish benevolent, the kind desire t 
The friendly intercourse devoid of art. 
Away! to black Cimmerian regions fly, 
In kindred darkness roll thy baleful haggard eye. 

Where merit shines with honors bright, 

Thou lov'st to dim the radiant light ; 

Where beauty's charms exert their pow'r, 

Thou lov'st to blast the blooming flow'r ; 

Wherever excellence is:found, 

Thy ready fangs delight to wound : 
And what to all should give supreme delight, 
Degraded sinks, and withers in thy sight. 
Swift at thy touch Parnassian laurels fade, 

And wreaths triumphal on the warrior's brow ; 
Thou canst envelope virtue in thy shade, 

And o'er her charms malignant darkness throw 
But know, base passion ! truth's unerring ray, 

Spite of thy arts, can dissipate the gloom ; 
Place injur'd virtue fair in open day, 

And bid the laurel with new vigor bloom ; 



ODES* ,119 

Rescue from thee each justly honor' d name, 
And give to modest merit its due place in fame. 

Go ! make thy dark unblest abode, 
Hid with the twilight-loving toad ; 
Black, pimpled, bloated, like to thee, 
Resembling pain, ye must agree : 
Yet, ah ! the toad, detested thing ! 
Has neither pois'nous tooth nor sting ; 
T,hou, worse than vipers, canst diffuse around 
The deadly venom and the livid wound. 

Beneath thy steps the verdant herbage dies ; 

Thy withering blast destroys the op'ning flow'r ; 
Swift from thy sight each fluttering songster flies, 
And streams flow refluent from thy hated pow'r. 
The charms of beauty, and the grace of youth, 

Fall to thy unrelenting hate a prey ; 
And all envenom'd by thy cank'ring tooth, 
Fair reputation blasted die& away. 
Malignant passion ! thy prime bliss is to destroy 1 
Thy greatest curse is to behold another's joy ! 



120 ODES. 

AH vile and hateful as thou art, 
Thou dwellest in the human heart !-— 
What charm or magic canst thou use, 
Thy vile contagion to infuse ? 
And thus pervert his native mind, 
From open, gen'rous, free and kind, 
To dark suspicion's cloudy restless state, 
And all the sullen angry gloom of hate ? 
No peace the sad infected bosom knows, 

Nor heeds the light, that all enliv'ning shines ; 
But brooding o'er it's self-created woes, 

Deep hid in joyless shades dejected pines : 
The secret poison on his entrails preys, 

Corrodes the tender root of social love ; 
Contaminates each hope, would make his days 
Replete with joys, in bright succession move. 
This — this is all thy vot'ries' meed at best, 
To live in woes unpity'd, and to die unblest. 

A vaunt ! invidious, hated pow'r ! 
No more infest the genial hour! 



ODES, 121 

No more from human hearts remove 
The gen'rous seeds of social love ; 
Forbid soft pity's tear to flow, 
Or teach — to smile at other's woe : 
Let kind benevolence extend around 
Her wish humane, and heal the wretches' wound. 
Thou foe to peace, content, and harmless joy, 

To gen'rous friendship, and commutuai love ; 
Who dost the source of ev'ry bliss destroy, 

What heart can harbor, or what thought approve ? 
Alas !— J}y far too many of our kind 

Indulg'd, thou rul'st the sullen ruthless breast ; 
Smother'st each warm emotion of the mind, 
And reign'st supreme by jealous hatred drest : 
O'er me, ah I never wave thy sombre wing, 
Nor in this heart infix thy life-empois'ning sting. 



122 ©DES. 



l»fl 



TO FOLLY. 



Of all the pangs, that crime or folly, 

So oft inflict on poor mankind, 
What points the sting of melancholy ? 

Ah ! what most hurts the feeling mind h — 
But crime or folly's stubborn nature, 

Will harden o'er the human heart ; 
And stamp the harsh unchanging feature, 

And blunt reflection's rank'ling dart. 

By some rash act, tho' ne'er intended, 

That keenly wounds the darling pride ; 
Ah ! if the dearest friend offended, 

E'er turns th' indignant look aside : 
Sad, brooding o'er it's thoughtless folly, 

And mourning for it's forfeit bliss ; 
O ! say, what poignant melancholy, 

What grief can wound the heart like this? 







SONNETS. 



TO SLOTH. 



Begone ! thou dull lethargic pow'r depart, 
Ne'er lay thy cold insensate hand on me ! 

Ah ! never pour upon this melting heart, 
The joyless apathy that springs from thee. 

Still let my soul's spontaneous numbers flow, 
Tho' never sung beyond my native groves : 

Still let my breast with gentle rapture glow, 
And fancy paint the fairy scenes she loves. 

Shrouded beneath Obscurity's dark wing, 
Tho' sombreshades forever hide my name, 



124 



SONNETS. 



Vet shall my vagrant muse not cease to sing, 
More prompted by the pleasure than the fume. 

Know, sluggish pow'r, my freeborn soul disdains 
To sink supine, and passive wear thy leaden chains. 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 



Sleep on, sweet babe ! enjoy thy calm repose, 
May hov'ring angels shield thee with their wings ! 

Long may'st thou live, secure from poignant woes, 
In human hearts that fix their tort'ring stings. 

No ruffling cares disturb thy tranquil breast, 
Nor envy's cankYing tooth corrodes thy peace j 

No wayward passion interrupts thy rest, 
No secret anguish, and no dire disease. 



mm 



SONNETS. 125 



That blest pre-eminence long may'st thou prove, 
Serene exemption from distress and care ; 

Yet may thy steps thro 7 flow'ry pleasures rove, 
And still thy infant pastimes freely share. 

But, many a heart when these blest days are gone, 
Has mourn'd its happy childhood's calm enjoyment 
flown. 



TO THE POLAR STAR. 



As o'er the silent wave his bark he guides, 
The careful pilot looks aloft to thee ; 

'Cross the wide main he full securely rides, 
Nor fears to deviate on the pathless sea. 

When o'er heav'n's vault extends the veil of night, 
And dangers threaten should his vessel stray ; 
n2 



._ 



126 SONNETS, 

' liMMtll 

Thyfaitliful.lamp affords a constant light, 
A kind companion on the lonesome way. 

The only boon I crave, would Heav'n bestow, 
(The darling subject of each tuneful theme) 

The greatest blessing man can have. below, 
A friend unchanging as thy constant beam : 

True friendship (solace to the care-worn breast) 
Sooths ev'ry pang, and charms each woe to rest* 



TO FRIENDSHIP. 



The pensile lamps that gild the ev'nihg sky, 
Wide o'er the blue expanse, in silence glide ; 

While her broad orb refulgent plac'd on high, 
Behold the silver moon majestic ride. 

In thick profusion as they sparkling roll, 
The stars to her superior lustre yield ; 



SONNETS. 127 



Tho' widely spread from either adverse pole, 
Uncounted myriads deck'd the azure field. 

As o'er inferior fires the moon's pale light, 

Thro' night's dark shade a brighter radiance sends ; 

So much the friend approv'd, in danger's sight, 
The world and fortune's minions far transcends. 

His gen'rous soul disdains each selfish aim, 
Joy or distress still finds his love the same. 



ANXIETY. 



Dark, as the gloom that wraps my sinking soul, 

December shrouds the desolated plain, 
And anarch storm around my cottage howl, 

Where I, unblest, must court repose in vain. 

Soon, gently stealing thro' the winding vales, 

The now-swoln brooks, their loit'ring streams shall lead, 



128 SONNETS. 



And soon, shall warmer suns, and genial gales 
Spread wonted blossoms o'er the verdant meads. 

But, nipt by disappointment's surly blast, 
When will the drooping bud of hope revive ? 

And the rude storms of adverse fortune past, 
When will the wished- for hour of bliss arrive ? 

Ah me ! I dread this inauspicious gloom, 
Whilst I with beating heart anticipate my doom. 



HOPE. 



Benignant nymph ! whose soul-composing pow^, 
Soothes the sad heart, and wakes its dying fires, 

That kindly constant, till the mortal hour, 

Still promp'st, till fainting life's last sigh expires. 

Why, from this drooping soul forever fled, 

Must I, still hapless, mourn my wayward fate ! 



SONNETS. 129 



And my torn heart, each sense of pleasure dead, 
Still — still he rent in passion's wild debate ! 

Say, in the series of revolving years, 

Is there reserv'd one gentle hour for me, 

Unstain'd by silent sorrow's humid tears, 
From haggard care's unblest intrusion free ? 

No ! — rigid Fate has cut the tend'rest tye, 

And giv'n my sinking heart in lonely grief to sigh, 



NATALE solum. 



Dear native fields, whose ever genial clime, 
Shoots full luxuriance to the gladden'd sight ; 

Imbibes with kindred warmth the ray sublime, 
Or mourns with pensive air his parting light. 

Oh, whilst my soul admiring fills the eye 

With grateful transport's fond impassion'd tear, 



— 



130 SONNETS* 



Reflection breathes her ever mournful sigh, 
And sad remembrance wakes the pang sincere. 

Too soon, lov'd scenes, too soon, ye natal plains, 

Where first my soul learnt friendship's haUow'd lore, 

Where first my muse attun'd her infant strains, 
And dawning reason op'd her heavenly stores — 

Too soon we part — but still my heart shall raise,. 
Its tender tributes to your matchless praise. 



THE TEAR, 



A tear in gay Lothario's eye 
Stood trembling eager to depart, 

But pride suppressed the rising sigh, 
Nor let the tell-tale shew his heart. 

Not long the truant drop repress'd, 
Stole softly down his manly cheek ; 



SONNETS. 131 



And thence a better pow'r confest, 
Than art can paint or language speak. 

That gen'rous tear bespoke a soul 
Replete with ev'ry finer sense, 

A fount whose feeling currents roll 
The streams of blam'd benevolence. 

That mind to virtue still is prone, 
Where sympathy erects her throne. 



LOVE. 



Ask, with what care the sailor's wakeful bride 
Counts the long hours that keep her swain away, 

When swelling on th' horizon circling wide, 
His sail appears not on the promised day. 

Ask, with what joy the captive bursts his chain, 
And quits the damp cold dungeon's drear confine, 



132 SONNETS. 



Springs to his long-lost home and love again, 

And sees creation smile, and joyful Phcebus shine. 

From such alone my darling maid can know, 
In absence, what long tedious hours I prove, 

With what keen hope my throbbing heart will glow, 
When bound, on willing feet, to her I love. 

Those can alone love's tender throes explain, 

Whose gentle hearts have felt the pleasure and the pain. 



PEACE, 



FaPv hence be wars, and all their savage train 1 
Mine be the humble vale and silent dell; 

Where smiling Peace exerts her mild domain, 
There would the Muse in calm retirement dwell* 

Sweet Peace, enamour' d with thy placid mein, 
Thy still retreats, from noisy tumult free ; 



SONNETS. 13S 



No more I wish, than to explore the scene, 
Unknown to all but to Content and thee. 

Too oft, Ambition mocks her votaries' pray'r ; 

To those who court her, Fame her wreath denies, 
And Fortune, with her bounties, mingles care, 

Or waves her pinions, and capricious flies. 

Free from the tyrant pow'r, I fain would dwell 
Secure, within the humble vale, and silent dell. 



THE SHIPWRECK. 



Far o'er the sea on heaving billows toss'd, 
A distant vessel sore beset appears ; 

While driving onward to the rocky coast, 
A furious gale the hapless pilot bears. 

Now toss'd aloft she flies a giddy height, 

Then sinks in gulfs that secret depths disclose, 



134 SONNETS. 



Ah ! — there she vanished from my eager sight ; 
And o'er the decks the liquid mountains close ! 

O ! could the pitying muse but fly to save 
The wretched sailor, sinking in the main, 

Bear him secure above the stormy wave, 
And safe return him to his port again : 

Gladly she'd snatch him from the whelming deep, 
But ah! — 'tis all she can to pity, and to weep 1 



TO BEAUTY. 



Thou lovely, soft, enchanting pow'r, 

Whose smiles enliv'ning gild the genial scene ; 

From thee, his fortress and his safest tow'r, 
Love deals his shafts among the swains unseen. 

Low at thy shrine, what, suppliant vot'ries bow, 
What clouds of incense from thine altars rise ! 



_ 



SONNETS. 135 



While rais'd on high, the Lover's idol, thou 
Withdraw'st his duteous worship from the skies. 

Say, does my bosom beat with fond alarms, 
When my Eliza meets my eager view, 

Because thy lavish hand has formed her charms, 
And o'er her features spread thy loveliest hue? 

Ah no ! — her soul, without thy aid, would move, 
By sympathetic force, this melting heart to love. 



TO ELIZA. 



With a Lociet containing the figure of a Lady playing 
with a tame Lark. 

Free as the air, that little Lark might fly, 

To woods or plains just where his fancy chose, 

On venturous wing aerial regions try, 
And thrill melodious music as he rose. 



^ 



136 



SONNETS* 



But, from his beauteous mistress e'er to stray, 

His little heart indulges no desire ; 
To hover round her all the live-long day, 

His warmest wishes to no more aspire, 

'Tis not his cord confines the fluttYing thing, 

Ah no ! — Eliza, 'tis a stronger tie 1 
'Tis love restrains the warbler's active wing, 

'Tis love forbids the captive bird to fly. 

As much a captive as the bird you see, 

Ah ! — would the maid I love as sweetly smile on me. 




- 



S0KNETS. 



PERFIDY. 



137 



As some poor hind, by hungry Jackalls prest, 
In wild despondence seeks the mountain's side, 

Faint and fatigu'd, with boding fears distrest, 
Strives in some cavern's dark recess to hide: 

There the grim Lion, lurking, waits the night, 
That silent hour, when to the woods he hies ; 

(Poor hapless thing !) she runs with blind affright, 
Unweening enters — weeps her fate — and dies ! 

So he, who pierc'd by angry fortune's dart, 
And flying seeks to shun his vengeful foes, 

Trusts to an artful villain's faithless heart, 
For promis'd safety, and secure repose. 

At last perceives (then 'tis too late to know) 
The wretch perfidious when he feels the blow. 

o2 



128 



SONNETS. 



TO IMPATIENCE. 



One.only object can admittance gain, 
One only wish the panting thought employ, 
One only hope can whisper promised joy, 

To him who feels thy sharply goading pain, 

Impell'd by thee, the swift excursive mind, 
By bounds still unrestrain'd, can widely soar ; 
Can wing its rapid flight from shore to shore, 

And leave the sea, the hills and vales behind. 

Well it can cheat slow creeping time's delay 
And bring the distant object into view ; 
From ev'ry hope its warm desires pursue, 

Remove the interval of years away. 

Yet, dk I the labor is but just begun, 
Time, and our tardy steps too slowly run* 



SONGS AND CANZONETS. 



THE SKY-LARK. 



Rise, my love 1 for see the morning 
Chases night adown the sky ; 

Golden beams yon clouds adorning, 
Say the sun's approach is nigh. 

Now, the genial Spring invites us, 
Ev'ry promis'd joy to prove, 

Scatters round what'er delights us — 
Come partake the feast my love. 







140 SONGS AND CANZONETS. 



Just a moment now I'll quit thee, 
Wonted homage I must pay- 
Now I rise, I haste to meet thee ! 
Hail thou glorious God of day ! 

Hailinvigorating^ower, . 

Who dispensest ev'ry good ! 
All thy warmest influence shower 

On my mate and tender brood. 

Warblers ! all exalt your voices 1 
Raise your songs ye tuneful choir ! 

Where's the heart that not rejoices, 
When his beams such life inspire ? 

See, the shining rays are gilding, 

Ev'ry- hill and lofty tree, 
You should now be up and building, 

Or be singing sctogs like me. 

With what heartfelt thrilling pleasure, 
I look down upon my nest 5 



■ iiiiJi 



SONGS AND CANZONETS. 141 



Grateful transports without measure, 
Rise within my throbbing breast. 

Well ye know how much I love you, 

Pledges of affection dear ! 
Long, ah! long I'd soar above you, 

And my song your hearts should cheer. 

But that darksome vapor, riding 
On the zephyr's swelling breast, 

From my longing sight's dividing 
Both my mate, and much-lov'd nest : 

Envious cloud ! — but I'll dart thro' thee, 
For I hear my mate complain ; 

Hush, my love, I'm coming to thee, 
Now, I join thee once again. 




142 SONGS AND CANZONETS. 



SONG. 



My swain and I, a long time past, • 
Have been by promise plighted, 

But now, our hearts and hands at last 
In wedlock are united. 

How will you live ? some taunting cry, 
And scornful toss their noses ; 
friends, quite careless, I reply, 
r e'li live on love and roses. 

What, tho' my swain and I are poor, 

And fortune is deny'd us, 
Yet we will live alone no more, 

Whatever fate betide us : 

For cares, and wants, we'll keep them off, 
Whate'er the world supposes ; 

And if we have but love enough, 
Our garden stock'd with roses. 



■ ^-^ 



SONGS AND CANZONETS. 143 



The worldly, prudent, selfish race, 

By sordid interest blinded, 
Make evVy thing to gold give place, 

And that alone be minded : 

Be ours, a nobler aim than this, 

That better hopes discloses, 
And we shall taste a purer bliss, 

Who live on love and roses. 

The kind desire which never cloys, 
The truth no baseness fearing, 

The genVous train of heartfelt joys, 
We still shall find endearing. 

Love smooths the wrinkled front of care, 

And ev'ry pain composes, 
Nqr suffers thorns to harbor there, 

Where bloom its own sweet roses- 



144 SONGS AND CANZONETS. 



THE SAILOR'S BRIDE, 

Alone, long tedious hours I mourn, 
Throughout the solitary day, 

And, sighing, wish my love's return, 
Who sails the ocean far away : 

Whilst the bold tar, advent'rous, braves 

The fury of the stormy waves. 

When restless tossing on my bed, 
I hear the midnight storms debate, 

And rude winds howling o'er my head, 
I tremble for my sailor's fate : 

Whilst the bold tar, advent'rous, braves 

The fury of the stormy waves. 

" My Poll," (he often cries) " no more ! 

u Come wipe away that falling tear, 
I travel to the distant shore, 

To bring back treasures to my dear : 
For this thy sailor, fearless braves 
The dangers of the ocean's waves." 



SONGS AND CANZONETS. 143 



He makes me smile amidst my woe, 
The tear he kisses from my eye, 

But when he's gone, my sorrows flow, 
And oft I heave a lonely sigh : 

Whilst far away, my sailor braves 

The dangers of the ocean's waves. 



SONG. 

Tost thro' the dark and dreary night, 

Amidst the wildness of the storm, 
When not a star displays its light, 

Or floating cloud reveals it's form : 
Spite of the fears that rend my heart, 

Exciting oft a boding sigh ; 
Spite of the trickling tears that start 

In silence from my eager eye ; 
A secret hope still sooths my pain, 
That I shall see my Poll again. 

Tho' death with all his grimly train, 
Seems hov'ring o'er the creaking mast - 9 



146 songs and canzonets. 



Tho' swept along the dashing main, 
He can't resist the savage blast : 

Our shatter'd bark can scarcely steer, 
She fast admits the briny wave ; 

The heavt-felt dread of fate so near, 
Distracts the weak, alarms the brave- 

A secret hope yet sooths my pain, 

That I shall meet my Poll again. 



CANZONET. 



One night, when the clouds of the ev'ning did lour, 

As young Strephon came wooing to me, 
Full sudden, in torrents the rain it did pour, 

And the wind wildly howPd in each tree. 
The storm did not cease, nor did Strephon depart, 

Till next morn at the breaking of day ; 
For I truly could never have found in my heart, 

To have sent the poor shepherd away. 



mmm 



SONGS AND CANZONETS. 147 



The night it was dark, and the way it was long, 

And it lay 'cross a lonely wide moor ; 
While swelling floods roared thro' the vallies along. 

As the rain still continued to pour : 
The swain might be drown'd in so dismal a night, 

O'er the moors he might wander astray ; 
Then tell me, ye maids ! ah ! it would not be right, 

To have sent the poor shepherd away. 

My Strephon is kind and endearing to me, 

And his soul I believe is sincere ; 
Then why should I coyly refuse to be free, 

Since the swain to my heart is most dear ? 
In my cottage, he rested, secure from all harms, 

And I'm glad that I ask'd him to stay ; 
For my heart would have beat with a thousand alarms, 

If I'd sent the poor shepherd away. 



V 



148 SONGS AND CANZONETS* 

CANZONET. 

Cease to request — oh! Damon fie I 

Teaze me no longer for a kiss — 
If screen'd from clay's broad-piercing eye, 
Be sure, Pd not deny the bliss : 
But when I grant that boon to thee, 
I would not have the world to see. 

My simple fears, ah ! don't despise, 
Nor think my timid caution wrong; 

Keen slander has a thousand eyes, 

And gives whate'er she sees a tongue : 

Whatever boon I grant to thee, 

I would not have base Slander see. 

When gently on thy breast reclin'd, 
Thy lips impress my passive cheek, 

And my soft sighs disclose my mind, 

In language, more than words can speak : 

The kindness that I shew to thee, 

I would not have the world to see. 



SPECIMENS 



OF THE 



YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 



SONG. 

JL e loit'ring minutes faster flee, 
Y'are all owre slow behalf for me, 

That wait impatient for the morning ; 
To-morn's the lang, lang-wish' for fair, 
I'll try to shine the fooremost there, 

Mysen in finest claea adoorning, 

To grace the day. 

Ill put my best white stockings on, 
And pair of new cauf leather shoon, 
My clain wash'd gown o' printed cotton ; 
" P 2 



150 SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT* 



Aboot my neck a muslin shawl, 
A new silk handkerchee owre all, 
Wi' sike a careless air I'll put on, 
I'll shine this day. 

My partner Ned, I no' thinks he, 
He*ll mak' his sen secure o' me, 

He's often sed he'd treat me rarely ; 
But Ise think o' some other fun, 
I'll aim for some rich farmer's son, 

And cheat our simple Neddy fairly, 
Se sly this day. 

Why mud not I succeed as well, 
And get a man full out genteel, 

As aud John Darby's daughter Nelly ? 
I think mysen as good as she, 
She can't mak' cheese or spin like me, 

That's mair 'an beauty let me tell ye, 
On onie day* 



SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 



151 



Then hey ! for sports and puppy shows, 
And temptin' spice-stalls rang'd in rows, 

And danglin' dolls by't necks all hangin' ; 
And thousand other pratty see'ts, 
And lasses traul'd alang the streets, 

Wi' lads to't yall-house gangin', 

To drink this day. 

Let's letck at'to' winder, I can see't, 
Its seams as thoVtwas growan lee't, 

The clouds wi 5 early rays adoorning ; 
Ye loit'ring minutes faster flee, 
Y'ere al owreslo' be hauf for me, 

5 At wait impatient for the morning, 
O' sicke a day. 




■Jst 



152 SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 



SONG. 



When I was a wee little tottering bairn. 

An' had nobbut just gitten short frocks ; 
When to gang, I at first was beginnin' to lairn, 

On my brow I gat monie hard knocks : 
For se waik, an' se silly, an' helpless was I, 

I was always a tumbling down then, 
While me mother would twattle me gently, and cry, 

Honey, Jenny ! tak' care o' thysen. 

When I grew bigger, an' gat to be Strang, 

'At I cannily ran all about, 
By mysen, whor I lik'd, then I always mud gang, 

Bithout bein' tell'd about ought. 
When, however, I com' to be sixteen yearauld, 

An' rattled and ramp'd amang men, 
My mother wad call o' me in, an' would scauld, 

And cry — Huzzy ! tak' care o' thysen. 

I've a sweetheart comes now upo' Setterday nights, 
An' he swears 'at he'll mak me his wife — 



SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 153 



My Mam grows se stingy, she scaulds and she flytes, 

And twitters me out of my life. 
But she may leuk sour an' consait hersen wise, 

An' preach again likin' young men ; 
Sen Fs grown a woman, her*clack I'll despise. 

And Ise — marry ! — tak' care o' my sen. 



SONG. 



I leotly lov'd a lass right weel, 

Was beautiful and witty, 
But all I sed (an' it was a deal) 

Could never raise her pity, 

Or mak' her love me. 

I tell'd her owre and owre again, 
(Did monie reasons render) 

She'd never fynd another swain, 
Wad be se fond and tender, 

If she'd bud love me. 



154 SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT, 



I'd tent my sheep i' field or faud, 

Wi' spirits light and cheary, 
Thro' summer's heat, and winter's caud,] 

If she wad be my deary, 

And say she'd love me. 

I's nobbut a poor shepherd lad, 
My hands aleen mainteean me ; 

Waes me ! weel may I be se sad, 
That maks the lass disdeean me, 

'At winnot love me. 

I thought, at first, i' my dispair, 

I'd gang and get me listed,. 
And bravely meet my death i' war, 

Because the lass insisted 

She wad not love me. 

But now I've teean another mind, 
I'll try to quite forget her ; 



SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 155 



Another lass may be mair kind, 
I'se like as weel or better, 

An' she may love me. 



A WD DAISY, AN ECLOGUE. 



GOORGT AND ROBERT. 



GOORGY. 

Well meet, good Robert! saw ye my aw J meer? 
I've lated her, an hour, i' t'loonin here, 
But, howsumivver, spite of all my care, 
I cannot spy her, nowther heed nor hair L 

ROBERT. 

Whaw Goorgy ! I've tee teyl ye dowly news, 
Syke as I's verra seer will make ye muse ; 
I just this minnit left your poor awd tyke, 
Dead a? a steean, i' Johnny Dobson's dyke. 



156 SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 



GOORGY. 



Whoor ! — what's that Robert? tell us owre ageean, 
You're joking — or you've mebby been misteean; 



ROBERT. 



Nay, marry, Goorge, I's seer I can't be wrang, 
Yo kno' I've keyn'd aw'd Daisy now se lang. 
Her bread- ratch'd feeace, and twa white hinder legs, 
Preav'd it was hor, as seer as eggs is eggs. 



GOORGY. 



Poor thing ! — what deead then — had she laid there lang ? 
Whoor abouts is she? — Robert will ye gang? 



ROBERT. 



I care nut, Goorgy, I hant mich to dea, 
A good hour's labour, or may happen twea ; 
Bud as I nivver like tolling behynd, 
When I can dea a kaundness tiv a frynd, 
An I can help ye, wi my hand or teeam, 
I'll help to skin her, or to bring her heeam. 



SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 157 



GOORGY. 

Thank ye, good Robert ! — I can't think, belike, 
How t'poor awd creature's tummled inte t'dike, 

ROBERT. 

Ye maund, shee'd fun her sen just gaun te dee, 
An' sea laid down by t'side (as seeams to me) 
An' when she felt the pains o' death within, 
She'd fick'd, an' struggled, an' se towpled in. 

GOORGY. 

Meast lickly, — bud — what was she dead outreet, 
When ye furst gat up ; when ye gat t' furst seet ? 

ROBERT. 

Youse hear — As I was gun down 't looan I spy'd, 
A scoore or mair o' Crows by t' gutter side, 
All se thrang, hoppin in, an' hoppin out, 
I wonder'd what i'th warld they were about. 
I leuks, and then I sees an awd yode laid, 
Gaspin' an' pantin' there, an' ommost dead ; 



158 SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 



An' as they pick'd it's een, an' pick'd ageean, 
It just cud lift it's leg, and give a greean, 
Bud when I fand awd Daisy was their prey, 
I wav'd my hat, an' shoo'd 'em all away. 
Poor Dais ! ye maund, she's now woorn fairly out, 
She's lang been quite hard sett te trail about. — 
But yonder, Goorgy, loo' ye whoor she's laid, 
An' twea 'r three Nanpies chatt'rin' owre her head. 

GOORGY. 

Aye marry ! — this I nivver wiehed te see, 
She's been se good — se true a frynd to me. 
An' is thou cum te this, my poor awd rneer ? 
Thou's been a trusty servant monny a year, 
An' better treatment thou's desarv'd fra me, 

Than, thus neglected in a dike te dee. — — 
Monny a daywark we ha' wrought togither, 

An' bidden monny a blast o' wind and weather : 
Monny a lang dree maule, owre moss, an' moor, 

An' monny a hill, an' deeal we've travell'd owre ; 

Bud now-^-waes me ! — thou'll nivver trot ne main 

Te nowther kirk, nor market, spoort, nor fair : 



SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 159' 



And now, fort' future, thoff I's awd and learn, 

I mun be foorc'd te walk, or stay at heam. » 

Ne mair, thou'l bring me cooals fra' Blakay brow, 
Or sticks fra' t'wood, or turves fra' Leaf how cow. 

My poor awd Dais ! afoor I dig thy greeave, 
Thy weel-worn shoon I will for keep-seeakes seeave ; 
Thy hide, poor lass ! I'll hev it taun'd wi' care, 
'Twill mak' a cover to my awd airm chair ; 
An' pairt, an appron for my wife te weear, 
When cardin' woul, or weshin t'parlour fleer. 
Deep i't 'cawd yearth I will thy carcass pleeace -, 
'At thy poor beeans may lig, and rist i 7 peeace ; 
Deep i't 'cawd yearth, 'at dogs may'nt scrat' thee out^ 
And rauve thy flesh, an' trail thy beeans about. 
Thou's been se faithful, for se long to me, 
Thou sannut at thy death neglected be. 
Seyldom a christian 'at yan now c^n fynd, 
Wad be mair trusty, or mair true a frynd. 



ICO SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 



THE INVASION, AN ECLOGUE. 



hnpius hcec tamculta novalia miles habebit ? — Virg. 

A wanton wether had disdaiu'd the bounds, 
That kept him close confined to Willy'6 grounds ; 
Broke thro' the hedge, he wandered far astray, 
He knew not whither on the public way. 
As Willy strives, with all attentive care, 
The fence to strengthen, and the gap repair, 
His neighbor Roger, from the fair returned, 
Appears in sight, in riding-graith adorn'd ; 
Whom, soon as Willy, fast approaching spies, 
Thus to his friend, behind the hedge, he cries— 

WILLY. 

How de ye, Roger ? ha' ye been at 'tfair ? 

How gangs things ? Made ye onny bargans there ? 

ROGER. 

I kno' not Willy, things deant hike owre weel, 



SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 

Coorn sattles fast, thoffbease 11 fetch a deal, 
Te sell 'tawd intack barley, I desaun'd, 
Bud cuddent git a price to suit my maund ; 
What wV rack-rents, and 'syke a want of trade, 
I kno'nt how yan's te git yan's landloords paid, 
Mair oure au that, they say, i' spring o't year, 
Franch is intarmin'd on't te 'tack us here. 

WILLY. 

Yea, mun ! what are they cummin hither for ? 
Depend upon't they'd better nivver storr. 

ROGER. 

True, Willy, — nobbut Inglishmen '11 stand. 
By yan another o' their awn good land, 
They'll nivver suffer (Ise be bun to say) 
The Franch te tak a single sheep away. 
Fightin' for hea-me, upo' their own fair field, 
All pow*r i' France cud nivver mak' 'em yiekU 

WILLY. 

Whaw, seer you cannot think, when put ti't pinch, 

0-2 



. 



162 SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 



'At onny Inglishmen i'll ivver flinch ! 
If Franch dea cum here, Roger, I'll be hang'd, 
And they deant git their sens reet soundly bang'd 
I can't bud think (thoff I may be misteean) 
Not monny on 'em "ill get back ageean. 

ROGER. 

I think nut, Willy — bud some fouk will say, 
Our Inglish fleet let 't Franch ships git away, 
When they were laid (thou kno's) in Bantry Bay 
'At they could newer all hev geen 'em 'tslip, 
Bud 't Inglish wanted nut te tak a ship. 

WILLY. 

Eah ! that's all lees ! 

ROGER. 

I dinnot say it's true, 
It's all unnone te syke as me an' you, 
How do we kno 5 when fleets do reet or wrang? 
I whoop it's all on't fause — but so talks gang. 



I 



SPECIMENS OB THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 163 



Howsivver this Itkno' 'at when they please. 
Our sailors always beat 'em uppo't seas, 
And if they nobbut sharply luke about, 
They needent let a single ship cum out ; 
At leest they'll drub 'em weel, I dinnot fear, 
An' keep 'em fairly off, fra landin' here. 

WILLY. 

I whoop sa, Roger, but, an if they dea, 
Gum owre, I then shall sharpen my awd lea. 
What, thoff I can bud oVe a lautle boast, 
You kno' yan waddent ha that lautle lost, 
Ise send our Mally an* all't bairns away, 
And I mysen 11 by the yamstead stay. 
I'll fight, if need; an' if I fall, whawthen, 
Ise suffer all the warst mishap mysen : 
Was I bud seer, my wife and bairns were seeaf, 
I then sud be to dee content eneeaf. 

ROGER. 

Reet, Willy ! Mun, what an they put us tea't, 
I will mysen put forrad my best feat ; 



164 SPECIMENS OF THE YORKSHIRE DIALECT. 



What, thofFFs awd, Ps nut sa easily scar'd, 
On his awn midden an awd cock fights hard. 
They say a Franchman's turn'd a different man, 
A braver, better soldier, ten to yan ; 
But let the Franch be turn'd te what they will, 
They'll find 'at Inglishmen are Inglish still, 
O'their awn grund they'll nowther flinch nor flee, 
They'll owther conquer, or they'll bravely dee. 






POETICAL TRIBUTES 

TO THE 

MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR. 

SONNET ON THE DEATH OF ALEXIS ; 
addressed 4o one of his friends. 

And dost thou cling to earth, unthinking youth, 
To 'scape the wreck of death, all nature's doom ? 

Ah I haste and read what hoaiy-headed Truth 
Has just inscribed upon Alexis' tomb : — 

M Build not your pyramid, immortal friend, 
" On tott'ring sand, expos'd to ev'ry wave ; 

u The firmest base that Time itself can lend, 
" Will sink, ere long, into the greedy grave. 

" List not too earnestly to Friendship's tale, 
" Nor grasp with ecstasy the Muse's prize ; 

" Long ere the tale of Love was done — all pale, 
" Uncrown'd, and breathless, poor Alexis lies. 



166 POETICAL TRIBUTES TO THE 



" Yet shall the Muses spread their flow'rs around his tomb, 
u And all his virtues flourish in immortal bloom." 



ON THE DEATH OF ALEXIS. 

All lifeless and cold in his tomb, 

As the earth that's laid over his head, 
Alexis, by Fate's early doom, 

Lies mouldering along with the dead. 
Taat mind, late so active and gay, 

Yet mild in the vigor of youth, 
Which often dictated the lay, 

That added fresh sweetness to truth ; 
Alas, now forever is gone, 

And blasted ere it was in bloom, 
Ah ! long yvill the Muses bemoan, 

Alexis low laid in his tomb ; 
Yet still in the hearts he shall live, 

Of numbers to whom he was dear, 
Who, at his saft fate ©ft will grieve, 

And drop an affectionate tear ; 



ttBKO&Y OF THE AUTHOR. 167 



And oft as the years roll along, 
111 go where Alexis was laid, 

And mournfully wander among 

The grass that waves over his head. 



SONNET, 

inscribed to the memory of the late Rev. Thomas Browne, 

Again, long banish'd from the tuneful train, 
Whose gen'rous smile approv'd her timid lyre, 

Sad Nemorina wakes the pensive strain, 
To tell the woes her sympathies inspire. 

Alexis dead ! — ah weeps not every muse ? 

Nay more, the Virtues mourn a valued child, 
Awide their tender sorrows each diffuse, 

These in soft notes, and those in accents wild. 

What tho' with lagging step mj* trembling feet, 
Thus late essay the weeping band to join, 



— — 



168 POETICAL TRIBUTES TO THE 



With tender dirge his gloomy mansion greet, 
And hail with quiv'ringvoice the hallow'd shrine ; 

Yet still I feel, — and o'er Alexis' tomb, 
Would shed one humble floweret's mild perfume, 

NEMORINA. 



ODE ON THE DEATH OF ALEXIS. 

Wrapt in her dark and wint'ry shroud, 
The moon scarce pierc'd the murky cloud ; 
Low sigh'd the breeze athwart the grove, 
Where erst she fanned the sweets of love ; 
And stealing o'er the shrinking sense, 
Pale ev'ningpour'd her vapors dense. 

When lo ! the Muse, her feet unshod, 
Her tresses flutt'ring with the gale, 

O'er Humber's green banks swiftly trod, 
And hied her to his inmost vale. 
There, on his sedgy banks reclin'd, 
She breath'd her sorrows to the wind; 



MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR. 169 

Till far within the unknown cell, 
Where disembody'd spirits dwell: 

The Sons of Genius heard the notes, 

Which trembled o'er the refluent air 
(As sound celestial sometimes floats 
The language of a brighter sphere) : 
They heard, and instant ev'ry breast 
A sacred sympathy confest. 
But chief the sons of past'ral lays 
Wept o'er their lov'd Alexis' praise ; 

And as low bending o'er his shrine, 
Their muse and his thus mourning laid; 

All felt the influence divine, 
And rush'd impetuous to her aid* 
Each could with magic song impart 
A tone of love to reach the heart ; 
And each with touch celestial pour 
Soft consolation's balmy show'r. 

They chose a sound of deepest skill, 
To tame the bosom at its will : 
The mingled lute of each was heard 

R 



170 POETICAL TRIBUTES TO THE 



Steal o'er the gloom of misty night : 
With that sweet grief the soul preferred 
Such dirge to tunes of gay delight. 
For there was Thomson's heav'n strung lyre, 

And Shenston's sweetly pensive song, 
And Collins wrapt in seraph fire, 

And Burn's light Caledonian tongue : 
There Waller told his tender pain, 
And Phillips pour'd his mellow strain ; 
And Goldsmith told a tale so sad so sweet, 
The list'ning group his pow'rs superior greet : 
And thou wert there — Ah I Nymph, distrest, 

Thy pale cheek drench'd in briny dews : 
Thou, Celia ! to Alexis' breast, 

More dear than life, or e'en the muse. 
But ah 1 thy sorrows, who shall paint 

What hand thy keener pangs pourtray : 
The muse perceives her colours faint, 
And veils in awe the dread essay. 

Each- Poet now as long decreed, 
Shed o'er the tomb a flow'ry meed : 



MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR. 171 

They strew'd the gentle violet blue, 
His modest merit's genuine hue : 
The snowdrop like his fortune's pale, 
The perfum'd tenant of the vale ; 
While pity bending o'er the bier, 
Gem'd each mild flow'ret with a tear. 

When instant from the op'ning skies 
1 A thousand beaming glories flow ; 
Lost hi the beams each spirit flies, 
The earthly mourners bless the glow. 
From faith it came — her form sublime, 

'Midst earth and heav'n majestic shone ; 
Defy'd the wrecks of death and time, 
And prov'd Alexis yet her own. 
High in the air a crown she borie, 

Mild glories sparkled in her mein, 
A robe of lucid white she wore ; 
And, leaning on the cross, was seen 
Close by her side a cherub boy, 
Whose bright eye spoke approaching joy, 
With smile angelic — words that stole 
Through each fine movement of the soul, 



172 POETICAL TRIBUTES TO THE 



Drew love and friendship from their woe y 
Bade the sad tear no longer flow : 
With his soft pinion sooth'd their every fear, 
For Sorrow's train are Hope's peculiar care. 
Bright fair I oh I still to you be giv'n 

Our ardent vows — our grateful pray V ; 
The sigh that wafts our Friend to heav'n, 
The smile that views our Poet there ; 
And friendship's dearest boon more blest appear, 
Sprung from the dust that guards his hallow'd bier. 

NEMORINA. 



ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. THOS. 
BROWNE. 



With all that firm benevolence of mind 

Which pities while it blames th' unfeeling vain ; 

With all that active zeal to serve mankind, 
That tender suffering for another's pain : 



MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR. 173 



Why was not he to power and riches rais'd ? 

Did heedless fortune slumber at his birth ? 
Or on his virtues with indulgence gaz'd, 

And gave her grandeurs to the sons of earth ? 

He little knew the sly penurious art, 

That odious art which fortune's favorites know ;. 
Form'd to bestow, he felt the warmest heart, 

But envious fate forbad him to bestow. 

He little knew to ward the secret wound ; 

He little knew that mortals could ensnare ; 
Virtue he knew; the noblest joy he found, 

To sing her glories, and to paint her fair ! 

And well he knew how transport thrills the breast, 
Where love and fancy fix their opening reign ; 

How nature shines in livelier colours drest, 
To bless their union, and to grace their train. 

He lov'd a nymph : amidst his slender store, 
He dar'dto love, and Delia was his theme ; 



174 POETICAL TRIBUTES TO THE 



He breath'd his plaints along the rocky shores 
And oft they echo'd o'er the winding stream 1 

Foe to the futile manners of the proud, 
He chose an humble virgin for his own ; 

A form with nature's fairest gifts endow'd, 
And pure as vernal blossoms newly blown. 

But, ah ! no more the Poet now remains ; 

Coll is the breast that glow'dwith sacred fire ; 
Mute is the tongue that flow'd with tuneful strains ; 

Check'd is the hand, and silent is the lyre ! 

Like some fair flower, that owes the desert birth, 
Whose buds foretel the beauty of its prime, 

But sinks unchelter'd, sinks unseen to earth, 
ChilFd by the blast, or cropt before its time ! 

CI05VI ara those eyes, alas I forever clos'd, 

Which beam'd so sweetly with expression mild ; 

With soft intelligence, and lock compos'd, 

Spoke the calm soul, untorn by passions wild. 



..„ 



MEMORY OF THE AUTHOR. 175 



1 saw pale sickness warn my friend away ; 

For him no more the vernal roses bloom I 
I saw stern fate his ebon wand display ; 

And paint the withered regions of the tomb! 

I saw him faint! I saw him sink to rest! 

Like one ordain'd to swell the vulgar throng ; 
As though the Virtues had not warm'd his breast, 

Astho' the Muses not inspir'dhis tongue* 

Too oft, alas ! in some sequester'd ground, 

Silent and cold the Poet's ashes sleep ; 
No pomp of funeral is seen around, 

No parasite to praise, nor friend to weep ! 

Still o'er the grave that holds the dear remains, 
The mould'ring veil his spirit left below ; 

Fond fancy dwells, and pours funereal strains, 
The soul-denoting melody of woe. 

Mark here, O ! mark, how chang'd, how alter'd lies 
The heart that once with youth's warm tide beat high ; 



176 POETICAL TRIBUTES, &C. 

Read your own fate in his — in time be wise, 
And from his bright example learn to die. 

For him, who now laments thy early tomb, 
Who lov'd thy virtues, and admir'd thy lays ; 

Tho' now he mourns, he soon may share thy doom, 
May soon require the tribute which he pays. 

Ah ! then farewell, ye blooming cheerful plains ! 

Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound, 
Where melancholy with still silence reigns, 

And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground. 

There may we sleep forgotten in the clay, 

When death shall shut these weary aching eyes ; 

Rest in the hope of an eternal day, 
'Till the long night is gone, and the last morn arise. 



FINIS. 



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